Insufferable
by bamftastik
Summary: *NSFW/MA* On his way to the encounter with the Grey Wardens, Zevran reflects on the events that brought him to Ferelden. Zevran/Rinna/Taliesin
1. Chapter 1

Denerim. The city certainly had a… unique air, the stench of mud and sweat and wet dog. The jewel of Ferelden, they said, where all the great and heaving stink of this land came to die. But it was only fitting, was it not?

The halls were drafty, unadorned, his host a sneering, sniveling minor lord. Even here reputation granted no respect; even here he was no more than a tool. But still he smiled, still he did his best to charm. Arl Howe, though, was unimpressed.

This was nothing to the other man. Hulking and taciturn, armored even behind these walls, he barely looked up from his maps. He had seen that look before, the fingers barely straying from the page, curling, caressing, lingering at its edges.

This man craved power as most men craved flesh.

And still he scowled disgusted, surprise at Howe's proposal barely flickering as he turned away.

"Just get it done."

He had recruited them from city's dregs, the whores and thieves and alley rats. It had not been difficult; always he had a way of finding such places, of swaying others to his cause. Part of his charm, he had once thought. There had even been rumor of two other Crows in the city. One, at least, had recognized his name, the other agreeable perhaps only out of curiosity, out of boredom. He couldn't blame him. Denerim was a city of very few whorehouses and even less coin.

They camped beyond the city now, the last rumor having put their marks somewhere in the Western Bannorn. Away beyond the trees the fire blazed, ringing with the snorts and grunts and thick laughter of his new companions. He had to wonder at that. He had come here for a purpose, unspoken but undoubted. Why then, had he recruited help?

Fear, even now?

But he had always used others, had never worked alone. And that had been his undoing, had it not? Curling his legs beneath him, he leaned back against the tree and let his eyes fall shut.

* * *

What was is the old master had said? "Keep an eye behind you on the battlefield and in the bedroom." Burying a laugh in the pillows, Zevran flexed his wrists, straining against their bonds. Sometimes, though, it was hard to tell which was which.

Rough hands trailed along his back, lingering searching over the intricate whorls there. Twisting, he could almost see him, shoulders hunching, eyes squeezing shut as those hands slid lower still. They found his hips, grip tightening painfully, but he was moving now, sliding away across the sheets, keeping just out of reach.

The sigh came heavy, the voice already thick and gruff. "What are you doing?"

He did laugh then, the anger, the obvious frustration intoxicating. Taliesin had never been one for games.

Pulling again against his bonds, he felt the supple leather give, slackening enough to allow him to twist his wrists, flopping over onto his back. The other man rose above him, the smile coming thick and crooked. "Tied those knots myself."

"So you did."

There was something more there now, deep and wicked and hungry. A game, yes, but one to be played carefully. Taliesin could not know how much he needed him.

Arms straining, he leveled himself upward, lips finding the roughness of the other man's chin, nibbling, searching kisses pulling the lips down to meet his own. And down he drew him, down amongst the pillows, arching upward to press against his chest. He felt him then, hot and warm and eager, twisting, pressing against his thigh. The gasp came pained, buried in his neck, choking, panting, denied.

He could only laugh, the muffled rumble coming deeper now.

Once more he twisted, the bonds giving entire, the hand coming hard to Taliesin's throat.

He rocked back, eyes widening in breathless surprise, fear flickering there. But Zevran held that gaze, the smile challenging, playful, wicked. It was Taliesin who laughed now.

Zevran spun easily, twisting the other man beneath him, the laugh swelling as his grip tightened. Shrugging out of the other bond, he crouched over his chest, hair trailing cross his face. In a swift motion, he knotted the straps round Taliesin's wrists, sitting back to watch him struggle.

The tightness rippled through his chest as he strained, the chuckle coming bemused… impressed.

He slid lower now, tracing his lips along the already slick neck, sliding his hands up and across the other man's ribs. His teeth left their own trail, drawing gasp after groaning gasp, slipping sideways to graze across a small and hardened nipple.

As he traced lower still, tongue snaking along the tensing lines of his abdomen, Taliesin stirred, the words tumbling half-muttered.

"Zev…"

"Mmm?"

"Don't…"

He stopped then, propping himself up on an elbow. "Don't what?"

The other man only shuddered, head lolling between his shoulders.

"You will have to speak up, my friend."

"You… absolute… bastard."

He grinned, running his tongue across his lips. Taliesin had managed to level himself up enough to glare. "Don't. Fucking. Stop."

"Ahh, but why did you not say so?"

Head snapping back with a strangled cry, Taliesin's hips surged upward, writhing, straining, finding welcome at last. The laugh came thick and deep in Zevran's throat.

Soon enough he let his own eyes fall shut, shoulders straining as he hunched low and drank deep. There was music here, the echo of the lillo flutes, the swirl of half-imagined light, blessed, whirling calm. But it swelled now, a deep and flickering star, growing, surging, dancing behind his vision. His head snapped up with a gasp.

He buried his face there, nibbling against the other man's thigh, kissing, licking still. Slowly, he raised his eyes. Slower still did Taliesin come round, eyes opening with a desperate groan.

Once more he gave over to lingering kisses, never breaking that gaze. "So, my friend… are you in?"

"What?" There was disbelief there, fading as his head fell back, hips writhing beneath the sudden pull.

But again Zevan shifted away, meeting his eyes. "Are you in?"

"Oh, Maker…" He shook his head. "Yes, yes, I'm in. Dammit! Yes!"

"Mmm. Good." Slipping lower now, his laugh was lost beneath the those cries.

The game had been won but it was later, before the first straining heralds of the sun, that the deal was well and truly struck.

"You're absolutely mad, you know."

Turning, he adjusted the folds of his belt, letting the overlapping leathers fall. "Am I?"

Taliesin's gaze was openly appraising, following the movement as they settled against his thighs. "Without a doubt. I don't believe your bid was accepted."

"It was."

"Well then I don't believe I agreed to help you."

Bending to retrieve his tunic, Zevran quirked a brow.

"Okay, _that_ I do believe. You're still a bastard, by the way. But tell me you at least have some sort of plan."

"Always."

"Anything I should know about?"

"No."

Taliesin snorted, flopping back amongst the pillows. "'Course not. But what about a team? The merchant has a full complement of guards. Surely we'll need more than just the pair of us."

He could feel the eyes on his back as he slid the leathers over his head. "You have someone in mind?"

"It's up to you. The new girl, maybe? What's her name?"

He turned then, the grin stirring before he could stop it. "Rinna. Her name is Rinna."

"Riiight." It was Taliesin's turn to smirk. "Bedded her yet?"

"It is only a matter of time, my friend, only a matter of time."

"Except I'm pretty sure she hates you. What was the word exactly…? Insufferable."

He had only smiled.

* * *

Still the word was bitter, the whisper tinged with her thick and lingering laugh. He could see it still, those eyes growing wide, begging, pleading, strangely—

He spun at the sound, blade coming to hand. There was more surprise than fear there, the woman holding up her hands in careful supplication. Serah. Even with a blade at her throat, the whore did not see death, did not truly realize…

Moving round him, she smirked. "Are all you Crows so jumpy?"

With a snort he sheathed the blade, folding his arms as he leaned again against the tree.

There was laughter behind her eyes, that thick and smoky hunger. "You comin' to bed?"

Ahh well, there was that. He was a man in his last days, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Slipping from the bedroll, he stretched. Serah stirred there, murmuring as she burrowed closer against the other girl's back. Caryn, was it? The little cutpurse had already proven herself surprisingly handy with a bow, handier still with… He smirked.

There had almost been an argument, the thief and the whore, but he had calmed them easy enough. Little more than a smile, a few gentle words, and they had both come eagerly to his bed. With a whispered snort, he slipped beyond the edges of the camp.

Dawn had not yet broken, but already it painted the sky a burning, angry pink. Another day, another wound reopened. Light should bring life, the heady scent of it, the breeze against his face. But here, in this Ferelden, there was only mud, warming beneath it with all its thick and sodden stench. Fitting, then. Perhaps he could even grow to like it.

He relieved himself amongst the trees, moving deeper still beneath their shadow. Old routine, this, each step lengthening, lingering, stretching. Brining his arms up before him, he slipped easily into the first form. He let his eyes fall closed, working the stiffness from his neck, stretching to let the tiredness seep from his legs as he shifted.

He held the pose, feeling the breath stir deep behind the tensing muscles of his chest. Almost he could feel it there, that warmth, that memory, the feel of her against him, the turn of her head as she watched him over her shoulder. His fingers flexed involuntarily, reaching for the mirroring hand that was no longer there. He had worked these forms before.

* * *

Spring had come cool, but soon enough the summer would swell, the rising heat bearing with it sweat and filth and the brine of Rialto. Leaning his elbows on the rail of the balcony, Zevran smiled. It opened off of the main hall, the colonnade broken by fluted, marble columns and wide arched doors. Here one could pretend they saw all the world, the flat grey waters of the bay, the early stirring of the crowded streets below.

His promotion, his move to the guild hall had been meant to impress, meant to cow. A cage, if a gilded one. Straightening now, his eyes lit on the yard below. He was not the only one awake so early.

The steps were near, the building's corner keeping him just out of sight as he descended, trailing his hand along the rail. He leaned there at its end, folding his arms to rest against a column, watching as she spun.

In Orlais they spoke of Aveline, armored and disguised, patron of the Chevaliers. In lands more distant still it was said that women took up arms, dressed as men and fought beside them. Not so in Antiva. Here the women were women and all the more deadly for the fact.

The dress was cut just below her shoulders, leaving them bare and tensing as she stretched. Dark as it was, there were intricacies there, delicate whorls twisting almost unseen across the bodice. The skirt was cut short, jagged, freeing her to move beneath its whirling grace. And above it all her hair hug loose, dark, swaying against her back as she moved away across the yard.

It was the steps behind him, though, that brought a smile to his face. Hands fluttered along his arms, gripping sudden in a slow, deep rub. The whisper came hot against his ear. "Hello, Zevran."

"Ahh, Selena." He turned, hand falling over hers, squeezing lingeringly as he leaned to lay a kiss on either cheek.

She snorted at that, fingers pulling away to twine amidst the laces of his tunic. "And where have you been?"

Selena was for all appearances the proper noblewoman, or perhaps a very high class whore. Her skill, though, lay in poisons, more deadly in her way that many who drew blades. Golden hair piled high atop her head to fall in cascading, exacting curls and, even at this hour, her blushes were pristine, hiding what he suspected was a bitter and troubling number of years. The gown was a deep crimson – her favorite – the bodice tight and low and… perfect.

Again taking her hand, he stepped back, openly admiring. "Dear, dear Selena."

She leaned close, pressing herself against him, burying her face against his neck as she breathed deep. "Ah. Taliesin." The hand came flat against his chest, pushing him away.

He quirked a brow. "Such skills you have."

"And those aren't the only ones. But this you know."

He reached for her, but she slipped away.

"Do you know what they are saying, Zevran? They are saying that you have forgotten the way to your own rooms." She stalked closer now. "Or perhaps that you have none at all, that you are only here to tread upon the good graces of whoever will have you for the night."

He trailed a finger along her cheek, arm slipping easy round her waist to pull her close. "Alas, 'tis true. I am lost and find myself bereft of a bed. But perhaps with the aid of a kind mistress…"

She shoved him off, but there was laughter behind her smirk.

Leaning again against the column, he turned, gaze straying cross the yard. Selena moved behind him now, resting her chin against his shoulder. "Ah. The elf."

"I too am an elf, my dear. Or have you forgotten?"

Her teeth nipped against his ear in answer, her laugh throaty, deep. "And such a pair you world make. But this one, I think, outstrips even you."

"You think so, do you?"

She laughed. "Do I sense a wager?"

Stepping back, he dropped into a flourishing bow. "A gentleman never wagers on such things."

"And you are no gentleman." Crossing her arms, she snorted. "You are what you are, Zevran. Do not pretend otherwise." Selena turned on her heel, disappearing amongst the pillars.

He blinked after her, still half-bowed, straightening with a shake of his head. But the hesitation lasted only a moment, the easy smile returning as he turned and slipped across the yard. Still the other woman's back was to him, his steps snaking sideways, silent.

One palm pressed out before her, arm sweeping round to hold tense and straight at her side. She didn't falter as he slipped his own behind it, her breaths deep and smooth and steady. His other hand moved round her waist, fingers splayed just above the warming tension of her belly, hovering, lingering but never touching.

Leaning close, he let his nose fall just behind her ear. Dark, sweet, wicked. "Rinna, Rinna, Rinna…"

"Zevran."

His fingers fluttered now round her wrist, trailing slow across the length of her arm. Still she held the form, hair brushing cross his face as she chuckled.

Her leg twisted quick, the kick meant to sweep him from his feet. But already he had darted away, spinning to circle round, just out of reach. He had seen it coming, of course; it is what he would have done.

Rinna smirked.

Again he stepped close, moving as though for a low, frontal attack. She blocked correctly, the crouch coming easy, but he stepped aside at the final moment, catching her as he slipped behind. His arm came hard round her waist now, his palm pressing firm against the softness of her middle.

He pressed his cheek to hers. "Too slow."

She shifted quick, leaning closer instead of away, her arm swinging wide. Recovering just in time, he caught her wrist, spinning her around to face him.

There was strength there, struggling still, her glare wicked. "You're insufferable."

He only tsked, bending to trail a laughing whisper across her collar bone. "Ahh, but I will be leaving you soon. I have taken a contract. You have heard of the Rivainian merchant?"

She stiffened, the catch in her breath almost imperceptible. "I don't believe you."

"'Tis true. Why would I lie?"

She snorted.

"You doubt me?" Closer still he moved, again breathing deep to stir her hair. "Have I ever told you of the time I bested the personal guard of Prince Azrin?"

Tilting her head, Rinna pulled back to meet his eyes. "Had anyone ever told you that you leave your serratus exposed?"

The pain bloomed quick, her fingers darting to the tender flesh beneath his arm. Sharp, short, the ache pierced deep, the very air stolen away in a hissing gasp. He bent double as she slipped away, but there was a chuckle growing beneath those ragged breaths.

* * *

His fingers strayed now, lingering just between the ribs, the gap beside his heart. The slightest pressure would be enough to bruise, but still pushed them deeper. Enough. Just enough.

She had turned beyond the columns, her smirk glinting justified. Such light there had been, never a hint of pain or pleading. Proud. Strong. And still she had begged.

He turned slow, rolling his head to work the stiffness from his shoulders. Rubbing idly at the new bruise, the old pain, he made his way back toward camp.


	3. Chapter 3

He lay flat on his stomach, hand moving to shade his eyes as he scanned the horizon. The ridge provided ample vantage, the road below snaking away toward the valley's end. There was dust there, rising beyond the distant trees, but whether or not it was their marks it was too soon to tell.

A shadow fell across his vision. "Your Wardens?"

Sighing, Zevran folded his arms, resting his chin there. "I cannot tell."

"Pity." The other man sat beside him, stretching back to lean on his elbows. "Thought you would have had them by now."

"Ferelden is a large place."

"Too large for the great Zevran?" He laughed, leaning low to catch his eye. Larin had been eager enough, the only one amongst the other Crows to recognize his name. But there was something more there, something hinted. He had early let it be known that he was here for curiosity, nothing more. Let him have his secrets; this would be over soon enough.

Rolling onto his back, Zevran scowled. The other man watched him openly, grin broadening. He was perhaps beautiful in his own way, pale and slight for a human, his dark hair grown long and sleek to hang across his eyes. There was a certain… pointedness to his features, the oiled beard, the sharpness of his shoulders, the long and narrow waist. But of the man himself, Zevran had learned little, had not cared to.

From his belt, Larin produced a flask, bringing it to his nose before holding it out in offering. "This Ferelden wine tastes of piss, but it will have to do."

Narrowing his eyes, Zevran shook his head.

"Suit yourself." He took a long pull. "But ahh, the wine in Antiva. The women, the men, the parties. I had hoped you would have us home by now."

"Then you are free to return." He stood quick, turning to make his way down the hill.

Larin, though, was surprisingly quick, hand encircling his elbow with ease. "I meant no offense." His fingers moved there, rubbing, lingering. "I will follow you as long as it suits me. And, for the moment, it does. I was merely wondering if you remembered… what it was like."

He held that gaze, thick and dark, the message clear. Still, he only shook his head. "We are not here to remember. We are here to do what we must." With that he pulled away, turning back toward camp.

* * *

He slipped easily through the crowd, lifting a glass of wine from a passing servant's tray. Bringing it to his lips, he inhaled deep. The Master always did throw the best parties.

Already he could feel the eyes on him. The costume had been selected for him of course, but even he had to admit that it… suited. The leather of the corset was fine, lacing to a central point that jutted just below his breastbone. Embroidery lined the matching kilt, the folds falling short and shifting as he moved. The Master had impeccable taste.

It was rumored that there would even be a noble or two amongst the guests tonight. Politicians, merchants, the finest prostitutes of course, but to land the cousin of a prince… old Visarius would certainly have outdone himself.

Zevran grinned now, nodding to a pair of whores leaning against a nearby column. The smiled for him as only whores can, but the glance was merely passing. He was part of the scenery, just as they.

Moving here and there he stopped, smiling for the old man's guests, bending to bow or kiss a cheek. He could see the others, dangerous ripples in the crowd, whispering lord and ladies come to gawk at the fearful Crows. Surely they knew that at a word none would escape this place alive. Perhaps that was why such events were so popular, why the Master had so many friends.

He spotted the man himself then, robes trailing behind him, the folds dipping low to the waist to reveal the mosaic of scars crossing there. Old he was and rather given to his… perversions, but Visarius was a Crow still and his long life alone was telling.

Those narrowed eyes met his own, one hand guiding a bowing merchant aside as his grin spread. "Ahh, Zevran."

His bow was low, one arm bent before him.

Spindly fingers traced across his bared chest, following the lines of the tattoos visible there, hooking at last against the leathers to pull him near. "You look…" His grin broadened.

"Thank you, Master."

"Ahh, but have you tried this?" At his snap, a servant appeared bearing a tray. The crisps were delicate, piled high with petaled cream. Plucking one, the Master held it before him.

Obediently Zevran leaned forward, taking the pouf between his lips, slow and sucking. There the old man's fingers lingered, coming away wet to trail across Zevran's cheek.

"Mmm." With a final sneer he turned away, snapping his fingers again to set the servants following.

Zevran stood a moment still, watching the man go, steeling himself reflexively. But there was something more now, the prickle of a warming glare.

Raising his eyes, he saw her there across the crowd. Dark of eye, dark of hair, but her silks were radiant red. The dress seemed to be of one piece, draped from her shoulder cross her breasts, wrapping tight round her hips. It was even shorter than his own leathers; another of the Master's gifts.

He smiled but Rinna remained cold, expressionless.

"She's thinking of ways to kill you, you know." The arm that encircled his waist was rough but playful, the day's stubble coming rough against his cheek. "You can tell. Bet she's thought of at least a dozen so far tonight."

"Taliesin." He pulled away, turning to face the other man. His costume was much the same as Zevran's own, though perhaps meant to accentuate different features, the broadness of his chest, the thickness of his arms. Grinning down at him, Taliesin again leaned near, his breath warm and fragrant.

"How much wine have you had, my friend?"

Throwing back his head, he laughed. "Enough. It's a party after all."

Zevran's eyes flitted again across the room, but she was gone now, the spot where she had been seeming somehow too empty.

"It's dull though, huh? Come on, they won't miss us."

Allowing himself to be led, Zevran's gaze again strayed, but she did not reappear. The corner was dark, cold and he found himself pressed against it before he had truly realized where they were. Taliesin's hand slipped easy between the fold of the leathers, cupping him, rousing him, his laugh coming hot against his neck.

"Mmm… here, my friend?"

"Why not?" His lips traced lower now, whispering cross Zevran's collarbone.

Placing a hand to either side of Taliesin's face, he pushed away. "And if we are seen?"

"Let them stare."

As the teeth fell against his neck with renewed vigor, Zevran let his eyes fall closed. His head leaned back against the wall, pinned there, arching beneath the eager grasp of Taliesin's hands. Still they worked, cupping, stroking faster now, one moving eagerly to his own leathers.

Zevran's lips had found his but they pulled away now with a breathless gasp. "No." His hand fell hard against the other man's chest, pushing firmly away.

"Andraste's ass!"

But he was moving along the wall now, back toward the party. Just on the edge of the light he stopped, leaning heavy to catch his breath.

Rinna was there now, but Visarius was at her side, trailing one long and crooked finger down her cheek. There were others too, a pair of well-dressed nobles standing just behind her, watching eagerly as they bent together to laugh.

"Zevran."

"Hush."

The Master moved closer, one hand wrapping hard round her arm, dimpling the tender flesh there. Stone she may be, but she made no attempt now to hide her cringe. Dark eyes rose, meeting his across the old man's shoulder. There was nakedness there, surprising in its suddenness. Nakedness and fear. Visarius steered her from the room, breaking that gaze, the two nobles following behind.

"Zevran."

He turned, blinking up at the other man. "I… I have to go."

"Zev!"

But he was already slipping through the crowd, grace sacrificed for speed. If he knew their route, he could cut them off, make it there first. Soon enough the crowds fell away, the hallways of the guild's private quarters dark, deserted.

He had just enough time to still his breath, leaning idly against the door as they rounded the corner.

"Zevran." Had it been possible, the Master might have been surprised. Rinna, for her part, looked quickly to the floor.

He clucked his tongue, gliding forward slow and swaying. "Visarius, you wound me. I have been abandoned."

The old man laughed. "Not so, dear Zevran. Not so." Again he traced a hand along his chest, the eyes of the twin nobles openly following the movements. "Go. Enjoy the party."

"And if I said I would enjoy… something more?"

The glare hardened. "I would see you beaten for your insolence. Though this, I think, you might enjoy."

He allowed himself to grin. "Only if it were at your hands."

Snorting amusedly, the Master turned to his guests. "These men are cousins to our dear prince. I am merely affording them their due… hospitality. They are quite taken with our Rinna."

"Rinna?" Zevran stalked forward now, letting the other men see it, sneering as best he could. "_This_ is the best you offer them?"

"Her beauty is unmatched. And her skill… ahh..."

Throwing back his head, Zevran laughed. "Her thighs are as cold as her stare. I would find more excitement in the arms of a mark… after the deed was done." He let his eyes flit to the watching guests, holding there. "I would not offer her to the boys who clean the gutters."

He could see her surprise, but there was hurt there as well. Still, she kept her head down, still she played her part.

"You have had her then?"

He snorted, the laugh coming bitter. "It is an _unfortunate_ truth, yes." Making as if to slip away, he bumped hard against Visarius' arm, sending his wine glass shattering to the stones.

The movement was reflexive, expected, but Zevran found himself pinned against the wall before he had even sensed the Master move. The blade was cool against his throat.

But there was laughter now, his guests watching with spreading grins. "Who is this man, Visarius?"

He knew enough to sense their tone, turning from Zevran with a whispered growl. "No one. Nothing. A slave."

"Ah, but a slave that must be punished, yes? For the wine." His companion nodded in agreement. "Forget the girl. _This_ I would see."

Zevran straightened, stiffening against the chill in his spine as he raised his eyes. Rinna met them unblinking, surprise and relief mixing in equal measure. He nodded.

Visarius too, had turned on her. "Go!"

Those hands wrapped now round Zevran's elbow, twisting as he led him through the door. The breath came hot, thick, rasping against his cheek. "You will regret this."

He only hung his head.

* * *

It was later that she found him, long after the guests and trays had been cleared away. The baths were deserted, the hiss escaping thick as he lowered himself gently into the pool. Even cool, the water was stinging, lapping at the still-oozing wounds to send flickers of light behind his eyes. The Master's lash had been swift and deep.

She moved amongst the steam; he could not be sure how long she had watched.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Oh?" Standing, he reached for a towel, patting at his arms as he rose.

Rinna still wore her costume, though it seemed to hang tired and lifeless now. Her eyes roamed, unabashed at his nakedness. "I owe you nothing."

He passed close, their arms brushing as she flinched. Again those eyes fell on his back, her gasp escaping unchecked.

Zevran turned, fixing her beneath a withering scowl. "And what if I do not care? What if I merely wanted the Master's attentions for myself?"

"No one wants his attentions, or so they say. And you don't strike me as the jealous type."

He snorted a laugh at that, turning again for the door.

"Zevran. Why… why did you do it?"

Glancing back across a fresh scarred shoulder, he held her eyes. "We do what we must."

* * *

Later, much later, but the memory lingered still. New hands traced old wounds, nails digging beneath the flesh as they trailed down his back. This then, the price of loyalty.

Behind him Larin bent low, wrapping one arm tight round his middle as he grunted his last. As Zevran collapsed into the grass, he felt the words trace his lips once more.

"We do what we must."


	4. Chapter 4

He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. But still he could feel the bars against his face, that cold and pressing caress. The cage again. Always the cage.

* * *

Dangling his legs over the balcony, Zevran pressed his face to the intricate ironwork of the rail. There were vines here, leaves, things that should be beautiful, but always they would be black, always cold. Laughter floated from across the city, music, light. Just another evening, but Antiva City had never needed an excuse to celebrate.

The footsteps came soft, not disguised so much as timid. He glanced over his shoulder as he came slowly to his feet, leaning palms against the rail. Ahh, perhaps timid was not the right word. There was certainly anger, some sort of awkward resentment beneath her hesitance. He and Rinna had not spoken since that night in the baths.

"Zevran."

Still he kept his eyes on those distant lights.

She followed his gaze, out and beyond the gates. "I would speak with you."

"Oh? And to what do I owe this honor?"

But already she had turned, wending her way through the darkened columns, his smirk lost on her back.

The walk was short, the private chambers of the female Crows stretching away to either side. The door, too, was like so many others, adorned but unmarked. She left him to catch it as she slipped beyond.

"Ahh, I feel as though I am in the bedchamber of the Grand Cleric herself. Where no man has gone before."

"You would be a fool to think so." Deeper into the room she moved, pausing to stand before a tall and gilded dressing mirror. One hand lingered against her bodice, playing across the laces there. It was new, he thought, the belt wide and dark and intricately worked, one that he had never seen her wear before. Her eyes, though, held steady. She was watching him.

"Oh? And yet you have barely spoken to any man here. Always it is the same, the cold silence, the icy glares."

There was something amused in her reflection, a growing smirk. "Did you ever think that perhaps it is just you? That you are not so charming as you think?"

He slipped closer, close enough to see the flicker of her eyes, the almost imperceptible stiffening of her back. Still she held her ground. Bending low, he trailed the whisper cross her shoulder. "Impossible."

Rinna whirled, placing a warning hand against his chest. "I want in."

He blinked, the smile, the retort coming perhaps a bit too slow. "As do I."

Shaking her head, she snorted, but already she was moving away, turning to the open window. The breeze stirred her hair, the loose-flowing silks beneath her bodice. "I'm serious. When you go to Rivain, I wish to accompany you."

Zevran sank onto the bed, leaning back to rest on his elbows. "But we don't go to Rivain. Merchants, they travel."

"And I can help with that." She turned, hands clasped behind her as she paced. "I have… experience as a tracker. And I know the area. Your last sighting puts him somewhere to the northeast, yes? Just shy of the border?"

He quirked a brow. "And how do you know this?"

"As I said, I can help you." She was moving away, back to linger before the mirror. Still she watched him, still she did not trust him at her back. And yet she asked to be part of his team. Now, though, now her eyes roamed, hand trailing to her hips. "I have… skills to offer."

Sliding from the bed he again slipped close, standing behind her before the glass. This time, though, she did not stir, did not pull away. "Skills, is it?"

There was almost a smile behind her sneer, a whispered chuckle beneath her sigh.

He rested his chin against her shoulder, arms slipping round her waist. But there he paused, eyes lingering on the reflection. So dark, so slight, so wicked and yet he seemed to fit easily there, cheek falling to rest against her own. Still her eyes watched his reflection, hands again straying to the laces of her bodice.

His own were moving then, gently guiding hers aside, his fingers tangling in the laces. Soft and supple and fine. He felt her breath escape her, but she did not stop him. Soon enough it fell away, the binding tumbling to the floor. The silk beneath was thin, stirring again beneath the breeze, held in place by only a single button between her breasts. This he worked with almost guilty ease, the folds falling away to hang across her hips.

Again he paused, again he merely watched. So pale she was against him, so delicate and unmarked, her hair and eyes dark where his were golden. But she pressed against him now, rolling her hips as she felt him stir. Pale, yes. Delicate, never.

His hand slipped low, the remaining silks falling to puddle at her feet. Her eyes had fluttered closed, falling back against him as he traced the curve of her hips. And yet he could not look away from the glass, from that strange contrast, from the play of her lip between her teeth as he parted her.

So hard, so cold her stares and yet here was softness, here was warmth. Why then…? Was this hesitance?

Rinna turned to him, breaking that strange reflecting gaze. He blinked a moment, staring down at her, almost surprised to see a smile there as she slipped closer, driving his fingers deeper. Zevran chuckled.

Her hands were on his laces, roaming eager beneath the tunic to pull them free. He helped her, pulling away to slip the leathers over his head. Now it was she who paused, leaning back as if to admire him, trailing a wondering finger cross the designs of his arms and chest. It was a look he had seen many times before.

Pulling her close, his lips found hers, the hesitation there perhaps only imagined. Warm and tart they parted, meeting him eagerly as her breasts were crushed against him, her hands roaming to his back.

She stopped, pulling away with a sudden hiss.

Ahh, yes. That. That hadn't spoken about it, there had been no need, but there was something behind her eyes now that he did not recognize, that he would have been loath to name even if he had had the words.

Rinna moved behind him now, hands following the scars without touching, the warmth of her setting the broken flesh to prickling.

"Why did you do it?"

"You have already had your answer."

"No. I've had excuses." Something of the old tone had returned. "Or is that all you're capable of? Excuses and lies?"

He turned, catching her wrist, still raised as if to touch him. But the words had been hollow; there was no sternness in her gaze.

"Does it… hurt?"

"No so much anymore. But, at the time, yes."

She watched him still, that same searching gaze from the mirror. "I suppose I owe you… my thanks."

"You owe me nothing."

Her hand slipped from his, falling again against his chest. The other fell beside it, lingering as her head tilted, the pair of them sliding up to wrap around his neck. His arms slipped beneath her as she leveled herself upward, wrapping round the small of her back for support. There she paused, bracing against his shoulders, holding herself as far away as she could without falling.

Unreadable still, that gaze. There was wonder there and warning, some hint of that eternal, wicked cold. When she lowered herself against him, he gasped.

Her thighs wrapped tight now, eyes holding his unblinking as she rose against him, as she fell. Slow but quickening, strong as she was silent but never, never breaking that gaze. Her nails scraped hard across his shoulders as she drew him deeper, guilt and pain forgotten.

It was only then that she let her head roll back, hair trailing behind her as her eyes fell closed. And still she rose, still she pressed, his grip on her almost slipping as he staggered toward the bed.

She fell against the sheets, sliding upward, one hand gripping hard against his arm to pull him with her. Her legs wrapped round again, drawing him deep, locking tight behind his back. So too did her hands trace upward, over his arms as he tensed and strained, rubbing up and over his shoulders to pull him closer still.

But there they pressed, up and away, spinning to pin him beneath her. He had slipped free of her, the cry bitten pained as he fell against the bed. Straddling him now, her hands played across his chest.

"Am I in?"

Zevran opened one eye.

She smiled down at him, smirking wicked. Leaning close, she let the whisper trail across his cheek, let him feel the warmth of her against his thigh, just out of reach. "Am I in?"

He chuckled, then. Irony.

"Yes."

As he felt her tighten around him, Zevran laughed. Delicious, delicious irony.

He had felt the eyes before he wakened. It was nothing new; let them stare. He could feign sleep a bit longer. But it prickled now, the wondering, the desire to meet that gaze. His head felt full, thick, the curiosity for things half-remembered suddenly overwhelming.

She lay closer than he had realized. Rinna. He blinked at that, his smile coming lazy, sated. Hers came crooked, the disbelief not so well hidden.

"Hi."

"Hello." Closer he slid, wrapping one arm round her waist. Still she was pale, that long, dark hair tangled cross the pillow, but there was warmth here, the baking glow of day.

He turned, blinking at the window. There was no glare, no morning mist.

"What time is it?"

"Late."

He snorted at that, slipping from the bed to rest his hands on the window sill. The sun had not yet reached its peak, but to say it was not close would be a lie.

"What?" Still she lay stretched across the bed, watching him unabashed.

"I, ahh… I do not normally…" He ran a hand through his hair.

"Ah." Rolling onto her back, she shrugged. "Go then. I'm sure you have preparations to make." There was no malice behind the words. Why had he expected there to be?

Gathering breeches and boots he made for the door.

"Zevran?"

He turned.

"Remember our deal."

With a smirking chuckle he slipped into the hall.

* * *

A restful night. One more thing that seemed only a distant memory. He could not tell how long he had been awake, how long he had deliberately grasped at those fading threads, willing the dream to continue. But dawn was breaking, another handful of hours gone.

There would be no rest, not for him. And yet perhaps today would find these Wardens. Perhaps it would at least be swift.


	5. Chapter 5

Shifting the crate, Zevran adjusted the last of the straps. He could feel the eyes on him, hear Larin's sigh as he leaned his elbows on the opposite side of the wagon bed.

"I assume you have a plan? A reason…" He nodded to the crates, the empty barrels. "…for all of this."

"I do."

"I have heard something of these… Grey Wardens. And while I understand the need for strength of numbers…" His eyes strayed to the other half dozen men milling about. "…it hardly seems a fair fight."

"If a fair fight is what you are looking for, my friend, it would seem that you are in the wrong line of work."

"True enough. But the women…? Why do you need them? Beyond the obvious reasons, of course." He grinned.

Zevran straightened now, meeting the other Crow's eyes. "As you said, I have a plan."

"What? Strand them with the wagon? Have them call for help?"

"…Something like that."

"Will that even work? A couple of whores seem beneath the notice of the mighty Grey Wardens."

"You were in Denerim. There are whispers of them already. In the dark places, in the filthy places. Scorn from above and awe from below."

"Heroes of the people, then?"

"We can only hope."

Larin moved round the wagon, leaning close as he lay a hand on his arm. It squeezed there, lingering. "Let us hope that these Wardens are bigger fools than you are."

* * *

"Did you at least hire a wagon?"

Leaning against the gate, Zevran smirked. "It is a job, my friend, not a holiday."

"Yeh, but…" Taliesin grinned sheepishly. "He's based out of Treviso, right? We could book passage on a ship, start the search in the north."

"So now it is a cruise you fancy? Shall I serenade you as we paddle down the river?" He tsked, straightening to step closer. "Our merchant works the Coast Road. Not so efficient for a trader, but far cheaper than hiring ships. More dangerous too, more chance of… misfortune."

"And that would be where we come in." Taliesin smirked down at him.

"Indeed. And three afoot will attract far less notice than a wagon or boat."

His eyes narrowed. "Three?"

Already Zevran was slipping round, having spotted her moving cross the courtyard. Her skirts were pinned high above flat and sensible boots, hair tied in a loose knot just above the pack on her back. Again the dress was new, the bodice low and fitted. He smiled.

"Ahh, Rinna."

"Zevran." She scowled up at the larger man. "Taliesin."

His fingers gripped hard round Zevran's arm, tugging him aside. "Could I talk to you a moment?"

"We shall all be working together, yes? Let us have no secrets."

Folding his arms, Taliesin glared. "Seems to me you're looking to use this job to get your hands up the bitch's skirt." He nodded for Rinna. "If we're to have no secrets."

"Go hump your mother."

Chuckling, Zevran lay a hand on each of their arms, the laugh deepening as they stiffened. "'Tis true that I could not hope for more beautiful company…" His smile included them both. "But, alas, the lady has already told me that it will not be."

Surprise flickered behind her eyes, but he tilted his head, holding her gaze.

"And yet she has offered her skills. She is a tracker and knows the area."

Taliesin folded his arms. "Has ties in the north, does she?"

"I grew up in an inn just south of Brynnlaw, trained with the guild in Seleny."

"An inn, huh? Bar wench, were ya?"

There was something of a growl beneath her snort.

Taliesin, though, only smirked. "Fine, have it your way. So long as she doesn't slow us up." He turned, hand snaking behind Zevran's head to tangle roughly in his hair. The kiss was hard, thick, his beard grinding harsh against Zevran's lips. Taliesin stepped away without a word, striding quickly through the gate.

Rinna raised a curious brow as she slipped round to follow, leaving him to grin wonderingly after.

* * *

The path rose steep, snaking through the brush to break from the main road. Wide as it was, the road held close to the shore, bounded on one side by wooded hills, on the other by a steep drop to the rocky beach below. It was these hills that they climbed now, the treeline running parallel and above the highway. If only their mark had chosen this spot… but, ahh, that would be too simple.

He could hear Taliesin grumble as the slope steepened, glaring as Zevran shot him what was certainly meant to be an encouraging smile. But still the man lagged behind, allowing him a brief moment's respite.

As he crested the hill, Rinna offered her arm, her fingers warm and firm against his elbow. Mirroring the grip he lingered, pouting playfully as she turned away.

"You didn't have to tell him, you know."

"Tell him what?"

"Where you are from."

She shrugged. "What does it matter where I'm from? Give him something now to get something later. Let him have the unimportant details."

And it had worked, had it not? Zevran grinned. "Brynnlaw?"

She only shook her head, turning to continue up the path.

The hand fell heavy against his shoulder, breathing coming panting against his ear. "Thanks for the help. You insufferable bastard."

Smiling still, he turned, arching upward to lay a kiss on Taliesin's cheek. "That I am. Now come."

As she slipped between the trees, he heard the man curse beneath his breath.

The path had remained wide throughout the day. Not so wide as the road below, true, but the overlook was well-traveled. Thieves, bandits, the occasional assassin… such a convenient trail for ambushing was almost a highway of its own. But still there had been no sign of their quarry.

They had moved away from the path as the sun sank, making camp in a small clearing. The fire burned low now, the night's pot long since cool, but still he sat, resting elbows on his knees.

She had fallen asleep with her back to the flames, defensive, her limbs tensing even in rest. Her hair had slipped free of its ribbon, spilling long and dark across the grass. He nodded, eyes heavy, for a moment imagining it pooled beneath her like so much blood.

Zevran started, the cough behind him bringing him to his feet. Taliesin leaned shadowed beneath the trees, slipping away with an inviting nod.

Sighing, Zevran followed.

"So is it an elf thing, then?" He stood, facing away, squinting out into the shadows.

"Is what an 'elf thing?'"

"Sleeping in the woods. She makes it look easy enough."

He laughed, slipping an arm round the other man's waist to pull him close. "Ahh, but I am an elf and there is little that I would not trade for a warm bed tonight." His grip tightened, tiredness fading. "Silken sheets, soft pillows, perhaps a bit of rope…"

Taliesin turned, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "And you and her? That an elf thing?"

"Oh ho! Is it jealousy, then?"

He snorted, folding his arms. "Call it curiosity if you must. She hates you and yet decides to come. Works with no one and yet joins us. I don't trust it."

"Is it not enough that I do?"

After a moment, he nodded. "But bringing a woman? Here?"

"They do have their uses, you know." Pressing close, he grinned up at him.

"Ah. Knew it was a load of horseshit. But she turned you down again, did she?"

Still he could not say where the lie had come from, but it was too late to turn back now. "Alas, she did."

"Guess it'll be entertaining, at least, to watch you try."

"And you? You have come along for the entertainment?"

"Something like that." Trailing a finger along his chin, Taliesin bent his lips to his.

* * *

He had waited until the snores deepened, stirring thick and hot against his hair. Taliesin's arm was draped heavy cross his waist, the fingers flexing involuntarily as Zevran slipped away and to his feet. Never had he been able to abide sleeping on the ground, not since he had risen high enough to be permitted a mattress of his own. As for Taliesin's jests about elves… Shaking his head, he snorted. Perhaps he could still salvage a few hours in the meager comforts of his bedroll before dawn.

The fire had burned low by the time he made his way back to camp, their gear still stacked untouched. Rinna's blankets, though, lay thrown aside, empty. Crouching, he trailed a finger there, tilting his head as he stared toward the trees. After a moment, Zevran smiled.

The stream had not been far, the whisper of the leaves doing little to mask the muted splash, the half-heard strains of song. Slipping through the shadows, he leaned against a tree at the water's edge.

Her back was to him, hair trailing long and dark across the gently rippling surface. She traced a hand there, cupping the water to let it trail down one arm and then the others. Bringing them together, she raised a generous handful to pour across the parts he could not see.

Pulling his leathers over his head, he chuckled. "It it beautiful, that song. What is it?"

Still her fingers played across the water's surface, stirring idle ripples there. She had not started, had not been surprised to find him there, but still she did not turn. "Just something my mother used to sing."

"Ahh, your mother. If the woman is half so beautiful as the song, I think I should like to meet her."

Rinna did turn then. The water lapped round her belly, but she made no move to cover herself. Nor did she bother to hide her smirk as she watched him bend to slip free of his breeches. "She's dead."

He tsked, dipping a testing toe into the stream. "As is my own. But such is the way of mothers, it seems."

She slipped away, sinking low and tilting back her head to let the ripples of his steps wet her hair. Running untangling fingers there, she watched him.

"They are healing well."

"Mmm?" In truth he had almost forgotten about the scars.

She stood, the water cascading in rivulets cross neck and breast and belly as she moved to stand behind him. After a moment's hesitation, she again cupped her hands, lifting gentle streams to run across his back.

The water was cool, but he had endured worse pain than this. Still, he smiled as he hissed.

"Faker."

He turned, grinning down at her, the upraised hand fluttering now against his chest.

Rinna held his gaze, holding through the long and silent moment before quirking a suspicious brow. "What?"

His hand dipped beneath the surface, slipping round the back of her thigh, drawing her close. As her knee hooked round his hip, she smirked, surprised to find him ready. Hands sliding up and cross her ass, he drew her closer still.

"Are you sure your friend won't mind?"

He laughed, giving her a playful squeeze as she rolled against him. Such warmth, despite the cold pricking cross their skin, all the waters of the stream nothing to the welcome waiting there.

"I've heard about you, you know."

His hands slipped higher, wrapping tight round her waist as she rose above him, the surface of the stream breaking into ripples as she sank and rose again. He held her there, pillowing his head against her chest. "And yet…"

She traced fluttering fingers up his spine, hesitating only a moment before stroking them through his hair. "And yet."

Straightening, he moved backward toward the shore, her thighs wrapping tighter as he bore her with him. Still she pressed, faster now, his steps faltering as he fell back against the bank. Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she levered herself up, pressing him back amongst the reeds. She fell still then, leaning over him, the water from her hair falling in gentle droplets cross his cheeks. The tension rolled through her as she smiled, the moan blooming deep in his chest.

The kiss was fleeting, trailing down his neck as she rocked back on her heels, knees tightening round his chest. As he arched beneath her, hand sliding up and over her breast, head lolling amongst the grasses… and the warmth – such warmth – wrapping him round, Zevran laughed.

He had not known, had not thought that it would echo, would reach the eyes watching from beneath the trees.

* * *

But it was Larin that watched him now, shielding his eyes against the dust as the wagon lumbered away. The travelers that they had spotted from atop the hill seemed to be holding to their course, walking the main road toward Denerim. He had also spied a narrow bend in the pass, cutting through some low hills in the ground between. If this truly was the Wardens, they would have a day – perhaps two – to lay the trap before being overtaken.

And then, then it would be over.


	6. Chapter 6

This was old death.

"Do you think it's truly a Blight?"

At least two weeks by the smell of them. The road had turned narrow, winding, cutting close between a looming cleft in the rockface. A perfect place for an ambush. Apparently the darkspawn had thought so too. As he walked amongst the corpses – human, animal, the broken remnants of a wagon – he shook his head. There was no art here, no reason, no advantage… only death. He had never seen anything like it.

"Zevran."

He turned, blinking back at Larin as he stepped in front of the others and moved to his side.

"Darkspawn?"

"It certainly looks that way, does it not?"

"There were rumors of it in Denerim, refugees fleeing the south, whole parties overtaken on the road."

"Then perhaps we should count ourselves fortunate."

He snorted. "So. Something you are afraid of at last?"

Zevran, though, only shook his head. "No. Fortunate to have found such an appropriate spot."

* * *

"She's got coin, that one."

Zevran paused in midstep, glancing over his shoulder as Taliesin fell in beside him. The other man's gaze was fixed on the road ahead, watching Rinna through narrowed eyes. Somehow he suspected he had not been enjoying the view so much as he.

Their path through the trees had run out days ago, sloping back down to join the main road. But still there had been no sign of their mark, the gentle inquiries made of passing travelers bringing no news. They would reach Treviso soon enough, would perhaps find something there.

Taliesin lowered his voice, but if she heard them she gave no sign. "I don't trust her."

"Because she has coin?" He tsked.

"Where did she get it? She didn't have such fine things before, never… flaunted it at least. And where does she disappear to every morning, I wonder? I've caught her, you know, sneaking off."

Zevran smiled at that. Truly he was surprised that they had been able to hide it long enough. But in these few weeks it had almost become… routine. Turning the grin to Taliesin, he shrugged.

"You said it yourself, Zev. She's from here, knows the area. And what of the merchant? If he's lying low, there has to be a reason. What if she's reporting to him? Keeping him a step ahead."

He laughed, dropping his voice to a whisper as Rinna glanced over her shoulder. "And how would she do that, my friend? You are paranoid."

"Paranoid my ass." Quickening his pace, he called ahead. "Hoy! Rinna!"

He turned, folding her arms beneath a withering glare. "Taliesin."

"Lovely day, isn't it? You're looking quite well."

"What do you want, Taliesin?"

"Why, just to compliment your outfit is all. Where did you get it?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't think they make it in your size."

"Funny." As Zevran approached, he smirked. "You didn't tell me she was _clever_. Too bad they don't pay for wit." Turning back to her he, he lay a companionable elbow on Zevran's shoulder. "Me and Zev… we were just talking about how nice you always look, how you have such nice things, like. Wondering where you got the coin is all."

Rinna tilted her head toward Zevran with a curious smirk. He could only hold that gaze a moment before rolling his eyes away.

"I took a job. In the city, just before we left."

"I didn't hear about any job."

"And you hear about all of them, do you?" She folded her arms. "Nothing for you to worry about anyway. It was… beneath you." Her eyes strayed to Zevran at that.

"Ah well, I'm sure that explains it then." Straightening, he elbowed Zevran in the ribs. "Satisfy your curiosity does it?" He stepped round, continuing up the road.

The urge to apologize came sudden and strange, but Rinna only shook her head, a small smirk spreading there. "I don't see how you tolerate him sometimes."

He shrugged, falling into step beside her. "He has his merits. Truly. I suspect I shall recall them any time now."

She smiled.

They walked in silence for a time, allowing Taliesin to set the pace. The trees hung low here, knitting above the road, effectively hiding the coast from view. Soon enough they would see the first signs of the city, but here there were only broken bits of fence, the occasional crate or discarded wagon wheel. Anything of value would have been long since picked away.

So accustomed was he to the feel of her at his side, to the easy rhythm of their steps, that it took a moment for him to realize that she had stopped. Turning, he saw her framed beneath the trees, eyes fixed on something beyond the roadside.

"Rinna?"

She moved without looking back, lifting her skirts as she stepped over the brambles. There was a path there, narrow and almost lost beneath the trees.

He spun round once before following. "Taliesin!"

The clearing was overgrown, the grasses wild and grasping, but still she moved with ease. He could hear Taliesin cursing, crashing through the brush behind. "What in the—?"

It sagged broken, blackened, half of the roof fallen away. A fire perhaps, the rest the work of long-forgotten years. "An… inn, it seems."

Rinna had paused at the door, starting as his hand fell on her shoulder.

"I think they're closed." Taliesin bent to pull the thorns from his boot.

But her eyes were wide, holding to Zevran's as she slowly shook her head. They roamed now, up and over the building, her fingers tensing against the pocked wood of the door.

"Taliesin."

"What?"

"Give us a moment, my friend."

"Why?"

He turned with a glare.

"Alright, alright." Unstringing the bow from his back, he shook his head. "Thought I saw a deer back there. There's gotta be something living in all this at least. But if you fancy sleeping here, I'd just as soon return to the road."

Turning back to Rinna, Zevran let his hand fall over hers. "You know this place, do you not?"

With a shake of her head, she let the door swing wide, hesitating a moment on the threshold before stepping through.

It took his eyes only a moment of adjust to the gloom. The place had been visited before, thoroughly scavenged, but still the wreckage of tables and chairs remained, a pile of half-collapsed planks that might once have served as a bar. There was a hallway off of the main room, a set of sagging stairs leading to the floor above.

Among them she moved, the shadows and the wreckage and the dust, white-knuckled hands clutching at her skirts. "I do not know… this place."

"Oh? And I am queen of Antiva."

She whirled, eyes pinching shut as her face seemed to come to life again. "Not this place, but one… similar."

"Your home, yes?" He stepped close, hand hesitating before falling to his side. "You said that you lived at an inn. I take it you were not a guest?"

Her eyes opened slow, deep and dark as he remembered, but there was nothing wicked there. "My mother… she was a servant."

"Ahh."

She tilted her head at that. "What do you know of it?"

"Elven servants? There are tales enough. But in a place such as this…" He gestured round. "…far from – shall we say – polite society? I hesitate to imagine."

She scowled, but there was surprise there. "Lucky you."

"I grew up in a whorehouse, my dear. Surely we all have a sad tale to share."

"You didn't tell me." But the softness lasted only a moment, her smirk hardening. "Shall it be a competition, then?"

He snorted, hand coming to rest on her arm as he shook his head. Rinna stared at it a moment before turning away with a sigh.

"You're not wrong. She was a serving girl in an inn just south of Brynnlaw. Worked the common room, served the wine, and as an elf…" She laughed. "Place was owned by a man named Alric. Old and fat and lame, but he was a good enough man, never asked anything of us, certainly never... But things have a way of happening."

"And your father?"

Glancing over her shoulder she shrugged. "Never knew him. He died before I was born, so she said. Really, I suspect it could have been anyone. All I know for sure is that he was an elf. Lucky me." She bent to right one of the broken chairs before continuing. "But… I remember she fought it at first. At least I think she did. And always she made sure I was hidden… from the moment the guests arrived. It was close enough to the main road, but Brynnlaw's inland, not well traveled. The travelers that we did get were idle soldiers, poor merchants, out-of-work mercenaries, that sort…"

Moving deeper into the room, he shadowed her.

"Only customer we got with any consistency was Ol' Vic. Friend of Alric's, farmer of some sort, they said. He would stop over on his way to market, come in for the holiday meals. He was a quiet man, lived alone; I think he might have honestly enjoyed the company."

"And he…?"

She laughed at that, surprising in the gloom. "Oh no, not at all. Vic sort of… well, he sort of watched out for us. Me, in particular. He would tell stories, stories of women, stories of elves, doing great things. I never believed him, of course, but he showed me other things too. Every visit he would take me out behind the barn. He showed me how to use a blade, shoot a bow. I was quite skilled with throwing weapons, he said." There was a smile there, crooked and half-sneered as she shook her head. "But that was all before."

Trailing a hand along the bar, he rubbed the dust between his fingers.

"They were soldiers, I think. Three of them, human, drunk, the same as always. But she hadn't been quick enough this time, had pushed me into a tiny cupboard behind the bar. I'd known what they did; I'd heard it before. She was practically falling into their laps by that time, not fighting, not doing anything. It made it easier, she said. But I hadn't _seen_ it before, hadn't… had to watch." Her hands tightened on the chairback, the splintered wood biting.

"How old were you?"

She looked up from beneath the fallen strands of her hair, eyes cold, dark. "Eleven.

"They… they were laughing as they took her, bending her over the bar. I could see her face, I could…" Whirling, she flung the chair against the wall. "There was nothing there, nothing! Dead… her eyes were just… dead. But one of them followed her gaze. 'What are you looking at?' he said.

"So they grabbed me. I kicked and I screamed but the cupboard wasn't big enough and they grabbed me and they were laughing—"

"—Rinna…"

"And do you know what she said? Do you know what she said to me? 'Close your eyes. Stay still,' she said. 'It will all be over soon.'"

"Rinna…"

"But… in the cupboard. I hadn't even thought about it but it was there… in my hand. One of Alric's old knives. And I knew, knew what I had to do. What I _could_ do. He saw it, I think, and still he only laughed. Still he put his hands on me. But I was quick, too quick." She turned her face away. "I remember thinking how soft it was, his throat, how easily the skin gave way."

He was standing before her now, a hand on each of her arms, but still she would not meet his eyes, would not even flinch. She was lost to it.

"And I fell, pulling it free as the second one came at me. I ducked, I turned away, I did everything that Vic had taught me. The man had taken his armor off when he took my mother, everything was exposed. I didn't even realize that I was crying as I cut him, opening him up to watch his belly spill out. But the other one… still he had her, pulling her up to put his blade to her throat. I didn't even see the fourth."

Only now did she raise her eyes to his, liquid unlike any he had ever seen.

"He was in the doorway, had a crossbow. The bolt fired as he fell and there behind him was Ol' Vic. But he wasn't looking at me, he was looking past… behind… Never had I seen anyone move so fast. He spun behind the last man as he dropped my mother, bringing his blade quick across his throat. And I watched him, fascinated, horrified, I don't know. It was a long time before I realized that he was still looking past me.

"It had taken her in the chest, the soldier's last bolt. And still she stared, still she was… repulsed… afraid… of me. And I just stood there… I just… watched her die. With her skirts around her waist, the stains of them still…"

She collapsed against his chest, heaving as he stroked a hand through her hair. There they stood, amongst the shadows, the filth, all the things best left forgotten. He whispered kisses against her forehead. "And this old man, this 'Vic' as you call him…?"

"Master Victarian."

He snorted. "And they say there are no old Crows."

Pulling away, she blinked up at him. "He took me to the guild at Seleny. I couldn't stay, he said. I don't know what would have happened to me otherwise. I… killed two men that night."

"It was well deserved."

She shook her head. "The guild was unimpressed. I was old, they said, almost too old; I would need to be broken quickly or not at all. But they knew, I think… they saw. There was nothing more they could do to me. Their work had already been done for them."

Again she settled against his chest, burrowing her cheek there as his arms wrapped round. "And what of you?"

He snorted. "I am an orphaned son of a whole, purchased on the slave market. While I'm told the price was good, there is not much of interest in the tale."

She buried a laugh against his chest. "And if I said it was of interest to me?"

"Ahh, I would not be able to resist."

"That so?" Straightening, she took his hand, pulling him toward the shadowed hall. "Come. There is more of this place to explore."

With a smirk he followed, noting her bemused expression as she pushed aside the door of the nearest guestroom. A fire there had been, the window broken and blackened, the threadbare mattress sagging and burned.

"Familiar?"

"Not at all." Turning to him, she pressed close, leaning up and into the kiss as her hands slipped beneath his tunic.

"Rinna…" He had to turn his face away, gasp for the words. "Are you sure you…"

Her hand snaked behind his head, drawing his mouth close again. "Yes. Absolutely."

His hands slipped up her back, making quick word of the laces there, straying to her shoulders as they slid the silks slowly down and away. Already she was stepping back, drawing him to her as she lay back upon the broken mattress. Why then did he hesitate, why did he still imagine something of that wavering sadness lingering behind her eyes?

Propping himself on an elbow, he let the question come unspoken, one hand cupped against her cheek. But she smiled, leaning into it, gaze holding steady. Sadness, yes, but also need. It was slow that she raised herself to meet him, slow that he pressed himself close.

* * *

He untangled his fingers from hers as they approached the door. The smile came sheepish, reluctant, but she met it with one of her own.

Taliesin was waiting as they stepped outside. "Well?"

It was with effort that he stilled his features, shaking his head to clear it. "Nothing."

"Great. Fabulous waste of an afternoon."

"I would not say so." He nodded to the string at Taliesin's feet, the rabbits piled there.

"Yeah, well, you're welcome. There's a root garden round the corner too. Probably overgrown but worth a look."

"I've got it." Nodding, Rinna moved away.

Taliesin smirked, watching. "Well?"

"Did you not already ask that?"

He snorted, nodding in Rinna's direction. "I'm not stupid, you know."

Zevran blinked.

"It makes sense. Long journey, man's got needs."

"Yes, that's it exactly."

Taliesin, though, did not catch the bitterness in his voice. There was a grin spreading there as he watched her bend to the garden. "Aye, needs it is."

* * *

He had not seen, had not thought to see even now. Rumors of the Blight, what little sign there had been of other travelers on the road… what had it mattered? What to him?

Crouching now on the edge of the clearing, he shook his head. Again, Larin approached, the others behind him turning to watch nervously. But still the man was proud, smirking down at him.

"We'll be leaving soon, I take it?"

Straightening, Zevran shook his head. "No. No… I think that we will stay. As I said, it is an ideal spot."

He stiffened. "And the bodies?"

Already he had turned, making his way up the hill. Glancing back across the clearing, the wreckage of the half dozen lives that they had counted, he sneered. "Leave them. Just as we found them."


	7. Chapter 7

He sat curled on the overhang, back pressed to the rising cliff face, looking out across the clearing below. The others had pitched their camp close to the entrance to the gorge, keeping as far as they could from the wreckage. A few had ventured far enough to gather firewood from the splintered crates and wagons, shielding their noses against the stench.

One arm rested cross his upraised knee, dagger flicking idly beneath his fingernails as he watched her brave the path, lifting her skirts as she stepped wide of the forgotten travelers.

"I take it you aren't coming to bed?"

He grinned, shrugging as he spirited the blade away. "The itch has returned, has it?"

Serah only snorted, curling her legs beneath her as she sat beside him. Still he watched the path below, her head turning to follow his gaze. "What do you see?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you see? When you look down there? Death? Your ambush? Or something more?"

"You are a philosopher now?"

She laughed. "I can be whatever you like. But I have a way of… reading people. Men. Professionally. And there is something troubling you… more than you let on."

Clucking his tongue, he turned away. "To think I had almost forgotten the ways of whores. Fortune tellers and nursemaids , mothers and lovers and councilors…" He smirked into the darkness.

"I have seen it before. There are men who come eager, of course, who take their pleasures with relish. But then there are those who do not blink, whose eyes turn distant no matter how you moan. I have seen them come to drink, to gamble, to fight with whoever might turn a lucky blade. I have skills. I can be many things… but I cannot be death. That, I think, is all that any such man desires."

"Such is the way of assassins, my dear. The good ones, at least."

"And when the Grey Wardens arrive? What then?"

He turned to her. "Then? Then we dance."

Serah rose slowly, brushing the dust from her skirts. She glanced back as she turned away, eyes narrowing. "The offer stands. Anything you like."

"And it is a tempting offer, to be sure."

"Yet you will not take it… You're not dead yet, you know."

He chortled, eyes trailing slowly upward to her smile. "Give me but a moment."

"Suit yourself."

As she disappeared down the hill he curled round, pillowing his head on an arm as he pressed his back against the stone. He could hear the laughter floating cross the clearing, the softer sounds, muffled cries rising as the night deepened. Larin's voice was unmistakable. Serah had perhaps become impatient, or Caryn or one of the others. Sliding back against the hill, he kept his eyes on the path.

* * *

It would have been a good dream. Zevran stirred, hands sliding beneath his blankets as the moan echoed near his ear. Familiar sounds, pleasant sounds, but these were muffed, angry, real. His eyes fluttered open.

Rinna had lay her bedroll near his own, closer now than in those early weeks. But it hulked there, close in the darkness, the blankets kicked aside as the shadow pinned her down. His hand was clamped cross her mouth, the other freeing himself from his breeches as he slid her skirts higher.

"Taliesin!"

Zevran rolled, elbow taking the other man in the gut. His balance faltered as Rinna bucked, knee striking home. She followed the momentum as he grunted, straddling the man as he fell back against the grass. Where the blade had come from even Zevran could not say, but she pressed it to Taliesin's throat as she leaned low.

"Thought you had her tamed, Zev."

Rinna growled, a fine line of red trickling down his neck.

Zevran crouched behind her, hands rubbing gentle but insistent over her shoulders. "Move."

She leaned lower, pressed closer.

"Rinna."

Reluctantly she lifted the blade, keeping it to hand as she slid aside. Zevran was quick to take her place, knees digging hard against the other man's thighs.

And still Taliesin grinned up at him. "What? You said—"

Zevran's fist came down hard, driving his face into the dirt.

Laughing, Taliesin spat blood. "Don't think I've ever seen you hit someone."

"It is not my preferred method, true."

"Lucky me." He pushed himself to his elbows as Zevran slid aside.

Rinna was watching them both, head tilting quizzically as Zevran rubbed at his knuckles. She rose without a word, disappearing into the trees as she tucked the dagger into her belt.

Sitting now, Taliesin chuckled.

"Don't, my friend." Zevran rose quick, holding up a forestalling hand. "Just… give me a moment."

She hadn't gone far. At his approach Rinna turned, laughing despite the flatness of her glare.

"This is funny, is it?"

"In its way."

"I feel I should… apologize." He stepped close, running a hand along her arm.

"And yet you won't." She shook her head before he could protest. "Don't. It's not your fault. I have seen the way he stares."

"Suspicion, I thought. Nothing more."

"Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think."

Zevran smirked at that. "So it appears. But we have worked together many times. I know something of his ways."

"No doubt." Her face darkened as she raised her eyes to his. "And is _that_ the only way you know to earn someone's trust?"

He turned away a moment, gaze straying to the trees. It was almost laughable, certainly, but still he could feel her eyes on him, the warmth of her as she pressed close. "Yes."

"Well then."

He sighed. "You would kill him if I let you?"

"Yes."

"And he you, I think."

"So that only leaves you." Her hand fluttered against his chest, cheek turning to rest upon his shoulder. "What will _you_ do?"

Trailing an idle hand through her hair, he chuckled.

"Things are what they are, happen as they will. We should both know that by now. We do what we must." She traced a finger upward, following the designs of his neck. "So… do you let us kill each other, then, or…?"

Zevran smirked. "Perhaps it is _you_ that I do not know so well as I thought."

"Perhaps not."

As they turned from the trees, she laced her fingers through his. Taliesin blinked at that, coming to his feet with an exaggerated groan. "Great."

Zevran met his glare for a long moment. "I have been… unfair to you, my friend."

Taliesin snorted.

Holding still to his eyes, Zevran wrapped an arm round Rinna's waist, pulling her roughly to him as he bent his face to hers. Had he expected fear? Reluctance? But her lips met his, teeth nipping, biting deep, her gasp escaping thick when at last he pulled away.

Turning to Taliesin, he could feel his chest heave, tongue snaking cross his lips in invitation. The other man's grin was wicked.

He felt him slip behind him as he returned to Rinna, running coarse and clawed fingers down his spine. Zevran shivered, normally deft fingers stumbling as he worked the laces of her bodice. Taliesin's hand moved lower now, tickling cross his ribs, reaching round to the tensing muscles of his belly as Rinna's dress fell away. He was already stirring as Taliesin's hands slipped below his waistband to pull him free.

Rinna stepped back then, something of a smile spreading as she watched them. Taliesin was nipping at his neck and shoulders now, wrapping both arms round as his grip tightened. Rough hands ripped at Zevran's laces, his own legs kicking hastily to send the offending leathers sliding to the ground. Taliesin's other hand slipped lower still, moving in rhythm with its mate. Zevran leaned his head back against the larger man's chest with a moan.

But Rinna was there once more, pressing, twisting as her breasts were crushed against him. The sudden touch of a third – fourth! – hand was almost more than he could bear. He found her lips with a desperate gasp, the laugh blooming thick in his throat.

There seemed to be a struggle there, a wordless battle fought for his very flesh, their hands overlapping, brushing each other aside, Taliesin's growl hot against his ear. Rinna seemed to relent, moving away – before the sudden burst of warmth sent Zevran's legs to buckling. She watched him from her knees, smirking as her head again dipped low.

Letting his head loll, he lay a kiss against Taliesin's cheek. "It seems you are beaten, my friend."

With a grunt he slipped away, moving to stand behind Rinna. There he lingered for a time, watching, hand straying idly along his thigh. At Zevran's nod, he bent low, lifting Rinna by her shoulders. She made no protest, though her final kiss lingered long enough to leave him gasping in pain.

Taliesin stepped close, pressing her between them. Trailing a finger along her chin, Zevran tilted her mouth to his, his tongue plunging, flitting, drinking deep of that first bitter taste. His other hand slipped low, parting her, chuckling at her already welcoming heat. She rolled her hips against him, leaving Taliesin cold, his arm wrapping roughly round them both. He moved awkwardly, grip tightening for balance. It was only when Rinna's laughter tickled cross his lips that Zevran realized the other man had finally shed his breeches. He pressed against them with renewed vigor, hands slipping between them to tighten white-knuckled round Rinna's breasts.

Still Zevran's fingers were lost to her, a sudden plunge bringing her gasping to her toes. His other hand snaked behind her thigh, lifting her to him, her head falling back against Taliesin as her legs locked round Zevran's waist. There she balanced, sighing as hand left her, crying out as it was swiftly and roughly replaced. He felt Taliesin's hands slide beneath her, gripping hard to that tender flesh, moving with them as she rose and fell.

Slowly Zevran bent his knees, lowering them to the ground. Still Rinna was held between them, nibbling at Zevran's lips as Taliesin knelt behind. But the other man moved suddenly aside, laughing as she toppled back into the grass. Pitching forward, Zevran was able to catch her, eyes snapping up with a hiss. Taliesin grinned.

Rinna, though, twisted against him one last time, supporting herself on his shoulders as she rose shakily to her feet. It was to Taliesin that she moved now, pausing to glare down at him. Kneeling still, he slipped a hand round her waist, burying his face against her. Rinna gasped.

Slowly she sank, hands bracing against Taliesin's chest to push him back. He acquiesced, leaning to grin at Zevran over her shoulder as he pulled her to him. Rinna's hand shot for his throat.

"Heh. If that's how you want it, by all means."

"Shut up."

Her legs stiffened, lowering herself slowly. But his hips thrust quick, the laugh rumbling deep as her fingers tightened round his neck. His own hands slipped low, dimpling the tender flesh of her hips as he jerked her closer still.

Rinna's hand pulled back, tracing hesitant along the roughness of his cheek, the bruise of Zevran's blow already purpling beneath his eye. The slap rang loud, Taliesin's head snapping to the side as he cursed. His hips rose again, her gasp bringing a bitter chuckle.

But Zevran was there then, slipping behind her to straddle Taliesin's thighs, cradling her cheek against his own as her head snapped back. Her neck twisted, lips seeking his, soft and desperate beneath her ragged breaths. He rocked with them, one hand sliding up and over her breasts, the other slipping low. It lingered there, playing against them both, fluttering up and over the folds of her.

Her lips remained locked to his, one hand cupping his cheek to hold them there, pressing back against him hard as she could. Still Taliesin bucked beneath them but Zevran moved his hands to her face now, tangling in her hair, holding her gaze, trapping her here, trapping them both.

* * *

The grass had torn away beneath his fingers, brittle and tawny and dead. His palm pressed hard against the earth, biting as he pushed himself to his feet. The clearing below was silent, belonging only to the corpses rotting there, the shadows of broken things.

And still it stirred him, that strange and darkened memory. He was not dead yet, she had said. Zevran chuckled beneath his breath as he descended the hill.


	8. Chapter 8

"Zevran." Larin mounted the ridge, squinting out across the path below.

They were close now, three women and two men by his guess, most of them heavily armored and sticking hard to the road. Still the distance was too great to gauge heraldry or arms, but there was little doubt now. These were not refugees, not traders. It would be soon.

Turning, Zevran smirked.

"Is that them?"

"So it would seem." He started down the hill.

"I had a thought on that score, actually, and none too soon by the look of it."

Zevran raised a brow.

Pointing cross the clearing, Larin gestured to an old and half-fallen tree. "Some of the men and I… Well Serah, too, actually; seems she has a bit of magic… We'd like to set a charge at the tree's base, topple it once we've drawn them in."

"Cut off their escape."

"Exactly."

"And it can be timed correctly? Just one charge?"

"That's the idea. One little blast and it all comes crashing down."

Zevran chuckled, raising his eyes to the thick and rotted wood. "And by then it will be too late."

* * *

He sat curled against the wall, letting his head fall back against the pocked and pitted wood. Taliesin lay stretched across the narrow bed, Rinna having taken the room's only chair. Her legs were crossed beneath her as she rocked forward to stare out of the small and filthy window.

They had reached Treviso that morning, taking a room at an inn near the city gates. Too fine to attract the notice of the lower sorts, too shabby for their arrival to be of interest to anyone of merit. Or so they hoped. Rinna, at least, seemed to share something of his caution; she had done little else but watch the street since he had barred the door.

Taliesin, though, stretched, jaw cracking in an exaggerated yawn. Propping himself up on an elbow, he grinned, nodding in Rinna's direction.

Her head tilted almost imperceptibly, keeping him in her periphery. As they had been all along, he realized. "What are you looking at?"

"Your hair, actually." Taliesin stood, moving from the bed to stand behind her. His hand lingered there, just above the dark waves tumbling past her shoulders, fingers curling away with a bemused chuckle. Instead he leaned low, palm slapping hard against the wood of the wall as he bent to peer through the window. "See anything?"

"Nothing worth mentioning."

"Yeh?" His head twisted, their cheeks brushing as he sneered.

Rinna did not flinch, stared ahead unblinking.

"Taliesin."

He straightened, turning to Zevran with a smirk.

"Perhaps you should take a turn."

"You're the boss." His hand fell against the chairback, but Rinna was already slipping away.

She sat on the bed, bending to adjust the straps of her boots. "I have to be going anyway."

"Again?" Taliesin's eyes narrowed.

"Again."

"And why is that, exactly?"

Her head rose, one hand idly sweeping an errant strand of hair aside. But that gaze was hard, dangerous. Zevran smiled.

"I told you. I have a contact here. They may be able to tell us the merchant's location or at least where he houses his wares."

Taliesin's head turned, nodding in Zevran's direction. "She has a contact. You hear that? A _contact_."

"And what is it that _you_ do… exactly?" Rinna stood, smoothing her skirts.

"I'm here for my rugged good looks, of course. Right, Zev?"

With a snort, she turned for the door but Zevran was on his feet, sliding the bolt aside. She lingered there, holding his eye, a small smile blooming as he bowed to usher her through. Turning back, she placed a hand on the wood next to his. "…Bye."

"Goodbye."

Twisting the lock, he leaned against the door, smirk twisting into something of a grin.

"Maker, that's pathetic."

"What is?"

Taliesin laughed, the sound rumbling thick and rasping. "Never would I have thought to see the great Zevran laid low. Especially by a woman."

"Ahh, but then you do not know women, my friend." He turned, moving to stretch across the bed. "But you have no cause for concern."

"You shouldn't have let her go."

"And why not?"

"'Why not?'" Leaning back in the chair, he propped his boots against the windowsill. "She's obviously going to meet a contact."

"Truly? I would not have guessed."

"She's _reporting_ to someone. Leaving marks, notes, Maker knows what else. Why do you think the merchant's always one step ahead of us? Why our information is always just a bit too old? And now we're just going to sit here and wait?"

"I trust her."

"Because she's pale? Wet? Might as well trust the summer rains."

"Poetry?" He chuckled. "From you, Taliesin? I never would have guessed."

The other man was on his feet, dropping to kneel beside the bed. "She's playing you, Zev. You know this. You've _done_ this."

He folded the pillow in two, propping it beneath him as he rolled onto his side. "Have I?"

Taliesin snorted.

"You are wrong about her, my friend."

Leaning closer, he sighed, fingers stretching to brush aside Zevran's hair. "I hope you're right. For _your_ sake."

"I always am." His own hands flowed over the man's arm, drawing him down into a kiss.

* * *

"Why are we doing this again?"

Rinna set the pace ahead of them, eyes straying through the crowd as she shook her head. "He has a storehouse just off of the western square. There's been activity recently, lots of it." She turned. "Your man may well be there."

Taliesin leaned close to Zevran's ear as she turned away. "Convenient, eh? That _she_ finds him?"

"Perhaps she is just that good."

"Yeah. Right."

Squeezing his arm, Zevran's eyes followed her movements, quickening their pace. "Come, my friend."

Treviso was not so fine as Antiva City. The buildings here were old, long since settled, built of thick, dark stone instead of living wood and marble. Sturdy, yes, but there was more function here than beauty. Still the streets were crowded, windows lit with the flicker of colored lights, men and women sweeping by in pale and loose robes. A festival, Rinna had said, though they were close enough to the Rivanian border for the customs to seem almost strange. Even the unrelenting Chantry sisters and their templars had failed to penetrate the peninsula. A wild place, godless and hedonistic, they said. Zevran chuckled beneath his breath.

"Rinna." He caught her up, laying a hand on her arm. Still she swayed, weaving through the press as he fell in beside her. "What did you say this was called?"

"This? Daidala."

"And what does it celebrate? Besides drink and women, obviously."

She laughed, the sound rising through the din. Turning, she held his eye, one brow rising as she smirked. "Reconciliation, or so they say."

"Truly? Marvelous."

Their pace slowed as the crowd thinned, the growing silence easy, comfortable. A stroll through the city, nothing more. Her fingers brushed against his.

"There."

"Mmm?"

They wrapped round his wrist, drawing him close as her other hand fell against his cheek to turn his head. "You see?"

The building was lower than the others, holding hard to the water. It was well beyond the light of the street, the shadows thick, quiet. One entrance that he could see, no sign of any guard, anyone to see…

She was pressed against him, he realized, turning his face back to hers. It was slowly that she leaned, arching against him to press her lips to his. After a time, she sank back onto her heels. "We may be being watched."

"Indeed we may." He grinned, hands slipping to her hips. "But if I am to be used in such a way—"

"—Ahem." Taliesin stood in the road behind, folding his arms to lean against the stone.

If he did not imagine it, Rinna seemed to flush, gesturing to the building opposite. "There's an alley there. Small and crowded with scrap, but there's no better view. Big enough for one. The others can wait on the pier, out of sight."

"We'll take shifts." He nodded toward the shadows. "Taliesin."

"What? You want me to kneel in the garbage while you two just—?"

Already Zevran was moving away, one arm draped round Rinna's waist. He turned with a wave. "You know the call to use if you need assistance. I shall relieve you shortly."

The road opened out onto a cobbled walk overlooking the bay. They were far enough from the docks proper, the warehouse more convenient to the merchant's land routes, but there seemed to be little in the city left untouched by the water. Here it was bordered by a low wall of the same dark stone, carved in the shadowed likenesses of the strange, Rivainian gods. There were columns here too, thick and unadorned. It was round one of these that Rinna moved, trailing an idle hand along the stone. It was a gesture he had seen her make before.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up short as he bent to examine the mark. Long, white, barely perceptible. She gasped as he twisted, her palm springing open.

Pinching the chalk delicately between two fingers, Zevran tsked. "And what is this?"

Rinna only glared.

"Taliesin says he has seen you marking trees."

"A tracker's trick. Nothing more."

"And this?" He let the chalk fall, shattering on the stones below.

"I don't know the city. Wouldn't want to get lost. And if I was truly leaving messages, I would have made two marks. Let them know there were two of us."

There was laughter behind them now, the approach of footsteps. Wrapping an arm round her waist, he pressed her back against the column, leaning low to hiss into her ear. "Do not lie to me, Rinna."

She shifted beneath him, breath coming hot against his cheek. "I'm not. And I am also not a fool. Not fool enough to move against you, at least…" She trailed off into a whispered chuckle.

He could hear them now, on the pier beyond… two, perhaps three sets of footsteps. The sharp click of heels, the rustle of skirts, giggles rising as one of them stumbled. Revelers, nothing more. Still, he let his hair fall to hide their faces from view, lips brushing against hers. "Taliesin does not trust you."

Tilting her head, she met him there. "And you should not trust him."

"I know him."

"As you know me."

"Do I?"

One hand stayed again to his cheek, brining him low as she raised her eyes. Still they held, wide and dark and calm. If there was a lie in them, it was a good one. "I have done nothing but what you have asked… refused you nothing."

"All the more reason to wonder why."

"Do you not know?" She tilted her head, lips pursing beneath a wondering smirk.

Zevran chuckled but she was already slipping round, tugging at his arm to draw him with her. The pier was deserted once again, the lights of the distant square still coloring the shadows, the faint strains of music rising through the silence. It was to these that she moved, twirling just ahead of him, trailing a hand up and over his shoulder as his arm slipped round her waist.

Away she spun, his arm stretching long, her smile shining pale in the whirl of skirts and flowing hair. He pulled her close, rough despite the grace of it, stopping her hard against his chest. Looking up at him, Rinna laughed.

He leaned low, bending cross the sea wall at her back. Still her eyes glinted, but there was no malice there.

"Zev…"

He heard the blade, the unmistakable whistle of steel through air, pulling her with him as he darted aside. Their attacker fell hard against the wall, the stone sending up a shower of sparks as the visage of a weeping maid was horribly gouged. Rinna had rolled away, crouching behind him as he drew his daggers.

The man was quick to his feet, but still overbalanced. Twin cuts cross his exposed belly were enough to send him topping over the wall. Spinning, Zevran spotted two – three more, slipping from the shadows of the columns. Rushing to meet the first, he ducked low and to the side, taking the man behind the knee. The other blade came up sharp, slicing the length of the hamstring. Already he was moving to the third, a big man with a pair of full length swords. Zevran ducked back, keeping just out of reach of a well-aimed swing. The man's reach was impressive… troubling.

But he fell heavy, the bolt at his back humming still as he sank. Taliesin stood in the shadows beyond, crossbow fitted to his elbow, glare straying to the pier beyond. The fourth man had vanished, but Rinna leaned breathless against the wall, staring to the waters below.

"Are you alright?"

She straightened as Zevran moved to her side. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are."

"Taliesin—"

"—She brings us here and there's an ambush waiting. What more proof do you need?"

"Taliesin."

He pushed past him, grabbing her roughly by the arm, hands roaming to her waist. "Didn't even draw your blade."

"I was able to overbalance, throw him over the side."

Taliesin grabbed her chin, turning her face from side to side. "And not a mark on you. How's that?"

"I avoided his touch. I can understand how that would be beyond your comprehension, beyond your _skill_."

"Enough." Zevran slipped an arm between them, pushing the other man aside.

"The waters are _still_, Zev. She threw no one over. He ran off, didn't hurt her because she's _in on it_."

Rinna folded her arms. "Yes, in on setting an ambush of four thugs for two _Crows_. What purpose would that serve?"

Poor odds, indeed. Zevran paused, blinking down at her. "Unless they did not know that there were two of us."

"What?"

"Three men against a single Crow… not a strong advantage, but with the element of surprise…" He was almost unsurprised to see it when he looked down, the tiny, forgotten speck of white. Bending, he rolled the chalk in his palm.

"What is that?" Taliesin leaned over his shoulder, the whisper hushed.

Zevran, though, rose slowly, eyes locked to Rinna's. "You left them only one mark."

"I told you I didn't."

"And yet."

He stepped close, close enough to feel the warmth of her, close enough to see the fear in her eyes. His hands moved quick, lighter than Taliesin's but tensed and grasping. Her belt he ripped away with ease, the pouch sliding free to spill coins across the cobblestones.

Taliesin crouched there, eyes widening as ran his fingers cross the pile. "Rivainian."

"Rinna." Back he pressed her, her steps whispering as she moved away.

"Zev… it's not—"

His foot shot forward, sweeping her legs from beneath her. He barely flinched as her jaw hit the stones. Pushing herself up onto her palms, she tilted her head to look up at him, but the arms were weak, quivering, shoulders heaving as she struggled to her knees. His boot came hard against her back, pressing her down.

"Let me… let me explain." The words were muffled, thick with blood, choking on the hair that fell around her.

Zevran crouched at her side. "And how would you do that, hmm? Honeyed words? The touch of your hands? The sweetness of your cunt?"

"Zev!"

"You have played me for a fool." He remembered another night, the night that they had… She had brushed aside Taliesin's attack, fell into his arms as if it were nothing. She had distracted him, distracted them. "Me and Taliesin both."

She spat, something of that glare returning as she twisted to hold his eyes. "I did only what you asked of me." But whatever she saw in his face seemed to shake her, the fear returning as she sobbed. As he straightened, her hand curled round his boot. "Zev… Zev, I-I love you…"

It rose in this throat, the bile, the bitter taste, the stinging anger. With a twist of his lips he leaned close, letting it fall, letting it splatter cross the stones where she cowered. Her fingers curled there, trailing through the wet, the last thing that he would ever give her.

The words came, the lies spilling again across her lips. But they echoed hollow now, exposed. Still she looked up at him, wide dark eyes gleaming, challenging him to believe. Lying still. No. Not love. This, this was hate.

Taliesin had moved to his side, but there was no mocking, no vindication there. At Zevran's nod, he slipped round, crouching behind her. Again Rinna's shoulders heaved, but whether from laughter or tears he could not tell. Shaking her head, she sighed, but the whisper was already cold. "Zevran…"

He stiffened, not daring to look away. Taliesin's hand tangled in her hair, jerking her head back, her eyes locking to his one last time. Wide, wicked, dark. But the other arm came round, her gasp choking as the blade kissed deep. Shutting his eyes, Zevran felt the wet flick cross his cheeks. He had forgotten how warm she was.

Still he held, breaths steady even as he heard her fall. Taliesin cursed, hissing for the mess as he straightened but there were other whispers here, shadows deeper than the darkness pooling round his feet. Zevran's eyes flew open as he spun.

Laughter. It echoed amongst the columns, the sound of approaching footsteps ringing them round. There were many, too many… Everywhere there were faces, thugs clad as those first unfortunate few. The man at their center, though, was announced by the sharp, reverberating click of fine and tailored boots, his mustaches quivering as he chuckled.

"Touching. Truly." He stepped onto the pier unafraid, clasping hands behind his back as his eyes roamed over them. "So heartless, you Crows."

There had been a sketch with the reports. Looking to Taliesin, he nodded.

The merchant bent to his man, the large one still lying face down in his own filth. Snorting, he straightened, moving to the next. With a nod, he moved again, passing within arm's reach of Zevran without so much as a cautious glance. It was to Rinna that he bent now, rolling her onto her back to brush the hair from her still wide eyes. Zevran found himself looking away.

"Such a pity."

"Pity that you—"

"—Be silent!" He sneered as he stood. "I was saying… such a pity that this one is not known to me. I am sure I would have enjoyed it."

"She was in your pay, even if you did not know her face."

Chuckling, he moved round, leaning close, stinking breath hot against Zevran's chin. "She is not one of mine." His grin grew wide. "She told you true."

It ripped cross his shoulders, down his arms, the heat threatening to break as he clenched his fists. But still he did not flinch.

"Is this the way of Crows, then?"

Zevran's neck turned stiffly, almost refusing to obey. But he concentrated on those eyes, deep-set and lined, concentrated on holding that gaze. "If you know what we are, then you know why we are here."

The merchant's chins shook as he laughed. "I do indeed. And yet I think that you will not kill me."

Zevran quirked a brow. "Oh?"

"There will be reprisal for such an action, yes?" He gestured to Rinna. "For such a… dreadful waste. I think that you will leave now, tell your masters that the contract is fulfilled. You will do this… or I will tell them what you have done."

He raised his eyes, the words flat, cold. "And if we do not?"

The merchant's grin was wicked as he stepped back amongst his men. "Then here you shall die."

* * *

Sitting on the ridge, he watched the preparations, feeling the tension again seep into his shoulders. One blast and they would have them; one blast and it would all come crashing down. Soon.


	9. Chapter 9

He crouched in the clearing, running a pair of fingers through the dirt. Serah had gone up the path some time ago, crying of beasts or bandits or darkspawn – he couldn't be sure. But it did not matter now. The Wardens were coming.

The others were hidden out of sight beneath the wreckage of the wagons, the archers lying prone on the ridge above. For the moment, he was alone.

Shielding his eyes against the sinking sun, he looked toward the old tree perched above the path. Half-fallen, long dead and still it lingered, waiting only to do its part. Funny, he had imagined this moment so many times – how could he not? – but never would he have thought to…

At the sound of footsteps, he straightened. Serah rounded the bend at a run, slowing with a smirking nod. The others were not far behind.

The man came first, wide-eyed and clearly taken off guard, the woman at his side slowing with a knowing glower. Behind them loomed a Qunari of all things, stiff and proud and heavily armed. Zevran chuckled. The Grey Wardens, it seemed, would take anyone.

But the big man made no move to attack, looking instead to the woman slipping round from behind. Deferring. To an elf. Slight, pale and dark-haired, she was already scanning the ridges above, eyes narrowing as they roamed from side to side.

The hair was too short – functional instead of feminine – the close-fitting leathers stained and filthy… Why then did he hesitate? Why did his fingers twitch, nails biting into his palms? Those lips pursed as she debated, angular features twisting into a wicked scowl.

He met it there, raising his eyes with a widening smirk. At a wave of his hand the others stood, archers taking their positions. Someone struck the charge, the hills above shaking as the tree came crashing down. They scattered, the elven woman rolling aside, drawing a pair of daggers as she came to her knees.

Grace, yes. Beauty, certainly. But her commands were snarled through gritted teeth, the eyes that snapped to his a brilliant, blazing green.

A stranger. A mark. Nothing more.

Laughing now, Zevran drew his blades. "The Grey Warden dies here!"

* * *

"Then here you shall die." The merchant leaned close, breath hot against Zevran's cheek. Stepping back he, smiled. "Do we have a deal?"

Still he stood stiff, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet the man's eyes. There were at least a dozen that he could count, watching from the shadows of the colonnade. But the thugs had been cocky, ill-trained, no match for the three of them. He shifted, feeling the slickness of the cobblestones beneath his feet, the thick wet seeping round his boots. Two now. Only two.

Taliesin had opened his mouth to speak, but Zevran shook his head. "We will report the contract fulfilled, as you ask." His eyes snapped up. "Once have buried my blade in your neck."

"Zev! Don't—!" One of the men stepped forward, fist connecting with Taliesin's middle.

"Would that you were as wise as your friend. I have always found guilt and valiance to be decidedly… impractical." He chuckled. "And unexpected in a Crow. But I cannot say that I am displeased."

With a wave of his hand, more of the men stepped forward. "Disarm them." He sneered. "Your heads, I think, I shall return to your masters. To let them know that I am not so easily bested."

Rough hands trailed cross Zevran's back, relieving him of his pouches and poisons, finding the blade tucked beneath his belt. Still others roamed low, finding the pair in his boots. One even tangled in his hair, finding the tiny shortblade resting against his spine. The grip on his shoulder twisted, forcing him to his knees. It pooled there, warm, thick; already he could feel the wetness seeping through his leathers.

Taliesin sank beside him, eyes wide above his glare. "They got everything. You have a plan, though, I assume?"

The eyes that turned to his were flat, the smile bitter. "No, my friend. I do not."

He sank back on his heels, watching the merchant pace, watching him gloat. His leg bumped against something solid and stiff, his fingers brushing against the soft folds of sodden skirts. They flinched instinctively away, her skin still soft, still smooth, still warm. But he felt it then, the supple kiss of leather, the sheath wrapped high around her thigh. Eyes locked to the merchant, his hands worked quickly now, moving higher, sliding the blade free in one final, lingering caress. Zevran folded his hands, concealing it between his palms.

He blinked up at the man with a lazy smile. "They will not fear you. Others will come… until it is done." He chuckled. "We are rather known for our persistence."

Striding closer, the merchant glowered.

"But if it is a message you wish to send… perhaps you should do the deed yourself, yes? If not fear, at least let them taste your… satisfaction."

The man snorted, smiling beneath narrowed eyes. But he clucked his tongue, nodding to the thug standing Zevran's side. He hesitated only a moment before dropping the blade into his master's palm.

"Ahh, and with my own blade. Truly, you are a master of the poetic."

He loomed before him now, smirking as he brushed aside a strand of Zevran's hair. The irony of the position, it seemed, had not gone unnoticed. "And such a pretty one you are. If I were not such a busy man…" He smirked, pressing the blade against his throat.

Zevran only pursed his lips, arching a brow as the merchant's grin widened. His hands moved quick, Rinna's blade spinning between his fingers, driving upward between them. It seemed a long moment before the merchant staggered, eyes snapping wide as Zevran twisted. The thrust had been precise, taking him between the legs. And still Zevran pressed, slicing upward as he rose smoothly to his feet. The merchant had been a rather large man, his belly heaving as its contents spilled. Ah, such filth. But he had made a promise, had he not? Wrenching the blade free, Zevran buried it in the side of the man's neck.

One thick arm swung wide even as the merchant sank, taking Zevran in the side of the head. Hard he fell, feet tangling in the forgotten skirts, cursing as the pain shot through his shoulder. Rinna was there then, face only a hairsbreadth from his own, eyes wide and staring still. He blinked, limbs seeming to stiffen, the ring of drawn steel, the crush of rushing feet falling away.

"Dammit, Zev!"

There were hands at his back, Taliesin pulling him bodily to his feet. But his eyes remained locked to hers, fingers curling reflexively, wrapping round the second dagger tucked at her belt.

Taliesin had recovered his own weapons, it seemed, two of the merchant's men already lying dead at his feet. It took only a moment. Eight remained: four archers, three with blades and one with a large and battered maul. Taliesin was already moving for the columns, taking the bowmen first. Zevran rolled aside as one of them loosed, bending to the merchant to retrieve the second blade. He crouched there a moment, weighing them, sensing the balance. They had been made for other hands but… He grinned.

The man with the maul came first, his swings wide and overbalanced. Simple enough to take a knee, let the momentum drive the blade up and into his middle. Two of the bladesmen next, one jumping wide as Zevran spun, the other's back opening as the blade slashed home. Its mate came round, a twin cut blooming cross his chest as the other man attempted to take him from behind. A simple backward thrust, the second dagger slicing cross his throat as Zevran turned again. He was near the columns now, the archer caught unawares as he suddenly changed direction. Hard the man was pinned, the tip of Zevran's blade scraping stone as it pierced his throat.

Of the third bladesman there was no sign. A wise choice.

Zevran paused, sheathing the blades behind his shoulders as he straightened. His own dagger had fallen just beyond the merchant's outstretched hand, the other kicked away across the cobblestones as he was disarmed. Fingering the hilts at his back, he chuckled. Turning away, he let them lie.

Still the shadows hung heavy amongst the columns, but there was nothing stirring there now, no weight of watching eyes. In the distance the sounds of the festival seemed to rise, rushing to fill the sudden silence. There would be light there, music, spinning even now, even here. Diadala. Reconciliation.

At the hand on his shoulder, he spun. Taliesin.

There was something of a smile there, one hand moving to wipe the spray of filth from his chin, but there was a stillness, a question in his eyes. Ah, yes. This would be the time for backslapping, perhaps a play-by-play. The man did enjoy his work.

"That was nice, with the—"

Their task had been completed, the job done and done well. But Zevran barely spared a glance for the merchant as he turned, moving instead to the wall at the water's edge. It was stained still, the first attacker's blade having left a deep gouge cross the reliefs carved there. He crouched. The face was strange, but there was no mistaking that expression. His finger traced the gash from shoulder to thigh. A forgotten goddess, nameless and marred.

"Uh… Zev? A little help?" Taliesin struggled toward him, arms beneath the shoulders of one of the fallen men.

True, none would doubt what had happened here and there was little enough that they could do about the blood, but their work was not yet over. He straightened, moving to the man's feet. They had had little choice, but this was not the way he would have preferred it. Do not leave a mess unless it is specifically requested. The Crows had a reputation to maintain. At Taliesin's nod, they swung the man up and over the wall. There was no need to weight them, not here. The currents of the Rialto did their work well.

Moving cross the pier, Taliesin bent to the pockets of the next man. The Crows were not thieves, but there was no profit in sending full purses to the bottom of the bay. It came easy now, the familiar work, the coin divided, heavy limbs lifted and properly seen away. The merchant himself went last, a groan escaping even Zevran's lips as they heaved his bulk over the side.

Again he crouched, resting forehead against his arm as he leaned a hand against the wall.

"Zev."

His eyes pinched shut.

"Zevran."

It was slowly that he straightened, slowly that he turned.

Taliesin knelt on the stones beyond, one hand outstretched, fingers again curling hesitant as they fell against her hair. He seemed to stiffen, both hands moving, but those waves were heavy now, the pool in which they lay already thickening. Jaw tensing, he gathered it neatly to one side, smoothing the last few strands from her forehead.

Zevran crouched opposite him, resting elbows on his knees.

"What?" Taliesin's eyes were wide as the locked to his, the growl almost… defensive.

"It is… nothing." And yet surprising. His eyes narrowed. "Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Did you _know_?" The words came flat, whispered. "You were quite willing to believe she would betray us, my friend."

Finally, his hands fell away. Something loosed in Zevran's shoulders.

"Weren't you? You saw what I saw."

"I saw your eagerness to be rid of her."

"Rid of—?" His arms tensed, fists curling at his sides. For a moment, he seemed to swell; his size, the blood still wet upon his hands, all coalescing in the firm set of his shadowed jaw. But he subsided then, sagging visibly. "I didn't… trust her. Couldn't understand why you did." He raised his eyes knowing, holding there. "But I didn't _want_ this."

After a moment, Zevran sighed. "I believe you, my friend."

His lips twisted into something of a crooked smile. "Maker knows I don't even trust you half the time."

"Nor I you."

"Right, see? It's no good to let your—"

"—Enough."

Her eyes were open still, staring skyward. Had he truly been looking into them this entire time? Perhaps he had. Leaning low, Zevran ran a pair of gentle fingers to smooth them closed.

Taliesin had come to his feet, watching with a suddenly somber expression. "Zev…" His eyes strayed to the wall, to the bay beyond.

Realizing his intention at last, he rose quick, stalking away. "No."

Taliesin moved beside him, following his gaze as he stared out across the waters. Already the waves below were still, all sign of the night's new dead borne swiftly out to sea.

"We'll go back… make something up."

Still Zevran remained silent, staring.

"It was a mistake, yeah. But no one has to know."

He shook his head. "She deserved… more. Better… than this."

Taliesin lay a hand on his arm, turning him from the waters. "You really think that? You really think any of us do?"

The chuckle was bitter, Zevran's eyes flickering back across the pier. Their work was done, yes; only this small matter remained. But Taliesin's hands were there then, one cupping his cheek, tilting his chin upward as the other brushed aside a fallen strand of hair. His kisses fell against Zevran's forehead, his nose, his cheeks, soft beneath the scraping roughness of new-grown beard. When at last he brushed his lips, Taliesin seemed to shudder, breath escaping as his shoulders hunched. Desperate, pleading... but through it all afraid.

Zevran stepped away. "Let us be done with it then."

He bent to her shoulders, the movements familiar, unthinking. Just one final piece, one final end to be tied. They paused at the water's edge, her knees draped cross Taliesin's arms, skirts billowing there. Suspended between them once again. Zevran could not tell if the thought was shared, could not bring his eyes from those ever-flowing ripples. And so the sea goes on.

Already he was moving away across the pier, turning before the splash could echo. It hung there, lingering amongst the columns, between the waiting shadows. But soon enough all things fade.

Zevran crouched, beginning to gather the contents of the spilled purse, the Rivainian coins still glinting accusing in the flickering lamps of the colonnade.

"Leave it."

"I would not think you one to turn your nose at coin, my friend."

Taliesin stepped round, blinking down at him. "Drop it over the side, then. I have no use for it."

Straightening, Zevran tsked. "Ahh, but I do." He turned without a word, slipping between the columns, sparing not a glance for the empty pier, for the stilling waters beyond.

They were close enough to the docks proper, the short walk silent despite the heavy fall of Taliesin's trailing footsteps. It took only a moment to find what he was seeking. The ship was smaller than most, but sleek and slim and swift. It was only as he slipped the purse from his sleeve, bending close with the eager captain, that Taliesin seemed to realize his intent. He stiffened, but kept his silence.

Their cabin was cramped, stale with the stench of old wet, the single cot sagging and stained. Zevran curled there, draping an arm cross his knee as he leaned back against the pitted wood. At the close of the door, he felt the sting of those eyes, but still the silence held.

"Don't."

He might have counted the breaths. "You do not fancy our… accommodations? You are the one who wanted to ride in style, were you not?"

"You know what I mean." The cot shifted as Taliesin sat.

Slowly, Zevran opened his eyes. "There is no sense in delay."

"Delay what? There's nothing to delay!"

"Oh? Our dear departed merchant had a point, my friend. There will be… recriminations… punishment."

"Which would do neither of us any good."

Zevran sighed, letting his head loll back against the wall. "I will leave you out of it, if that is your wish."

He hesitated only a moment. "…Yes. But there's no reason not to leave yourself out as well."

"Is there not?"

"It's…" He grunted, turning away with a disgusted snort. "It's pointless. Stupid."

"I am glad to see you think so highly of me."

"What in the name of Andraste's tits did she do to you, huh? I mean, I'll admit she was fit enough, wild little thing on the—"

The kick took him in the shoulder, sending him dropping to a knee beside the cot. But as Zevran moved to curl his leg beneath him, Taliesin's hand shot out, grabbing his knee. He slid closer, hand lingering there.

Zevran quirked a brow at that. "You would beg now?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Taliesin glared up at him, chuckling beneath his breath. "You're not the self-sacrificing type. Don't pretend that you've suddenly gone all noble. That's not who you are."

"Oh? And who am I?"

Hands sliding higher, Taliesin straightened, raising his face to his. There was a smirk there, calm, wicked, hungry. As Zevran bent to meet him, he laughed.

But his fingers tangled behind Taliesin's neck, twisting in the short growth of hair, pulling him wincing to his feet. A kick to the knee sent his legs buckling, face crashing hard against the wall as Zevran pressed behind him. One arm pressed against his neck, the other in the small of his back, Zevran leaned close, breath coming hot against his ear. "You would see what I am?"

Taliesin only snorted, his struggles half-hearted, testing. Grabbing him by the collar, Zevran flung him cross the narrow space to fall hard against the side of the bed. Still he laughed as he was pulled to his knees, face pressed low against the frayed and filthy mattress.

Zevran paused there, bending to trail fingers along his spine. "I will not speak of your part, you have my oath."

Taliesin twisted to peer up at him, shaking his head with a bemused smile. His fingers curled against Zevran's chest, tangling in the laces to pull him low.

The ship was indeed fast; their journey took no more than a week. It was the rains that had caused delay, the captain assured them, the deluge slowing work and keeping them confined to the cramped and musty cabin. Long hours, those.

Even in the port he could feel the watching eyes. Their arrival would be marked, their steps counted as they slipped along the streets. At the guildhouse gate they seemed to redouble, unseen glances from the balconies above, shadows moving through the night-draped courtyards. But let them see. Let them know. If they did not read it in his eyes, they would know soon enough.

As the halls turned, Taliesin lay a hand on his arm. Their chambers to the left, the Masters' quarters away and to the right. But the hours of that waiting week had been long indeed. The same words, the same grasp of pleading hands. Zevran only shook his head.

Visarius' door was cracked, the long and shadowed hall dimly lit. He waited, just beyond the threshold. The Master would know, would have been informed, would sense him there. But first he would be made to wait.

Forty-three breaths before he heard the cough, a summons unworthy of wasted words. Zevran pushed aside the door.

The man waited with his back to him, desk and high-backed chair holding close to the nearest wall. It was beside him that Zevran moved, beside him that he knelt. Visarius chuckled, turning in his chair.

The kick took him in the cheek, just beneath the eye. Tasting blood, Zevran ran the back of a hand across his broken lip. But lower still he bent, steepling his fingers against the cold marble of the floor. Let them see your hands and they will know you cowed.

"The contract is fulfilled. And yet still you would disturb me."

He could feel the twist of his lips, the bitter sting of the words. "I am sorry."

Another kick, to the shoulder this time. "You seek to anger me."

"I am sorry, _Master_."

"Ah. So now comes the grand sacrifice. A final great and noble act." His chuckle was rasping.

Zevran raised his eyes at that, earning him a kick to the knee. He staggered, but held still to that gaze.

"You and Taliesin arrived alone. The reason was not difficult to surmise."

"I am afraid you do not know—"

"—Why you now seek punishment? Do not think me a fool." He leaned low, hand tangling in Zevran's hair to drag him close. His breath was hot, hissing, stirring wincing memory. "I do not care why it was done. I do not care which of you held the blade."

With a wave of his hand, he flung Zevran aside. He landed palms to the floor, raising his eyes from beneath fallen hair. The string on his tongue thickened, teeth digging hard against his lip.

Visarius settled back into his chair. "I have lost nothing that cannot be replaced. And this punishment that you so eagerly seek…" He snorted. "I have not the time."

Zevran opened his mouth to speak, but the old man made as if to kick again, laughing when he flinched aside.

"Go."

He did not move.

"Go! Take your guilt and pity elsewhere."

The Master turned away as he rose slowly to his feet, stirring not for the glare, not for the obvious display of his unguarded back. Unconcerned, unflinching.

Pushing through the door, Zevran slipped along the hallway, turning a corner to sag against the stone.

"Zevran."

She moved like a stalking thing, swaying as she walked, trailing an idle finger along the tiles of the wall. Selena grinned to see him there, the lines of her eyes deepening at the redness of his face. But still she smiled, trailing a finger along his cheek, pressing hard against the blooming bruise. "Ah, Visarius does have a… tender touch." Coming to his broken lip, she leaned close, sucking deep of the wound.

He hid his hiss beneath a whispered chuckle, pressed there between the cold stone, the heat of her roaming caress. No, they would not care. Everything could be replaced. But his own hands were moving now, tearing at the laces climbing her back, bringing a triumphant gasp as she flinched in pain.

Selena pulled away, meeting his eyes with a hungry grin as her fingers curled forcefully round his collar. "Come. Let us get you cleaned up."

The path was familiar, the steps an echo through muffled air. Familiar games, familiar places… and yet he found that his grin had faltered, recovering quick as she turned to him.

Selena did not seem to notice, her own smirk twisting wicked. "You have not heard."

It was unlike her to make idle conversation. "Heard?"

"A contract, out of Ferelden… one that none will touch."

"Ferelden?"

He must have sneered, for she laughed. "A land of rough men and braying dogs, to be sure. But that is not what intrigues." She stepped close. "The marks. A pair of Grey Wardens, so they say."

"Grey Wardens?"

"Have you ever heard of such a thing? Scandalous. But the contract stands. None have so much as placed a bid."

He quirked a brow. "And this intrigues you, does it? Shall I say my farewells now? See you off to your dogs?"

Selena only snorted.

Ah. Practicality, self-preservation… surely these were the marks of a good assassin. The Grey Wardens were warriors of renown, said to be gifted with the strength of demons and darkspawn themselves. They had slain dragons, ended Blights… He idly wondered at the fool who would want to see them dead, wondered more at the fool who would…

Pulling her close, Zevran grinned, chuckling for her startled gasp. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling loose the careful pins. It fell in faded gold, his touch against her chin stirring the thick and dusty powders painted there. She smiled at that, warming beneath his gaze but his eyes were distant, drawn miles and months from here.

* * *

Grey Wardens.

He could remember the cries, the whistle of arrows, the sudden snap of cold. But through it all she had come to him, dark and smooth and wicked, the ring of her blades sending shivers down his arms. None had been able to touch them, the dance theirs and theirs alone.

"Mmm?"

"I think you hit him too hard." The man's voice came from somewhere distant and above, cold but with something of a wavering chuckle.

A boot then, to his stomach, more insistent than angered, rolling him onto his side.

"I say we kill him and be done with it." A woman's voice now, the sneer evident behind her words.

"No." One whispered word, yes, but there was authority there. He blinked, something of the fog clearing.

She crouched, peering down at him, head tilted to one side. The hair was too short, the eyes too pale, but he remembered now… the whirl of blades, the eager smile. Stained and panting and cut but still she flushed, quivering beneath the filth, tense and smooth and skilled. The Warden. And she had bested him, it seemed. He did not know her face, but there was something… striking there.

Zevran shifted, raising his eyes, chuckling as her hand strayed to her blade. Ah, yes. He had but to say the word at it would be over. At last. This was a vision of mercy.

But so too was there strength here, beauty… life. And still she held his eyes, weighing, wondering. "I am Reikha."

The laugh was thick, cough threatening as his back heaved. And then he began to speak.


End file.
